


I'll Show You Mine

by ElegyGoldsmith



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Badass Rey, Dark, Dominant Kylo Ren, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Frottage, Jealousy, Kylo Ren Angst, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Related, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, POV Kylo Ren, Pseudo-Incest, Rey Solo, Rey is a tease, Showers, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, Step-Sibling Incest, Step-siblings, Unhealthy Relationships, Virgin Ben Solo, Virgin Kylo Ren, Virgin Rey (Star Wars), Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21781924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElegyGoldsmith/pseuds/ElegyGoldsmith
Summary: ON HOLD UNTIL FURTHER NOTICERey glances down at him as she moves back from the computer, and her quick gaze catches what’s happening above his splayed zipper. “See? That’s it.” Ben could swear there’s an extra bounce in that delicious ass of hers as she pads back to his bed and reseats herself, fixing him with that target-lock gaze. “Now just pretend I’m not here.”His voice is robotic with disbelief; it’s impossible she could mean it. “You want me to jerk it with you here?”“I put my picture back up, if it helps.”He spares a glance at the monitor and she isn’t lying. There she is again in her exposed glory, showing everything and nothing all at once.“You were enjoying looking at me. Why shouldn’t I enjoy looking at you?”Ben’s cock pulses at the thought of Rey enjoying him, and it’s so terrible and wrong that it almost feels right.In which adult stepsiblings Rey Johnson & Ben Solo spend a steamy summer in the Nevada desert at Solo's Garage sneaking around their suspicious parents Han and Qi'ra.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 124
Kudos: 397





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> [Craving Kylo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951468/chapters/34645847) is back on track after a year full of cancer!
> 
> Sooo much love for Ben & Rey... *sigh*
> 
> ＠＾▽＾＠

Ben steps on the brake, and the dusty grey sedan lurches to a stop a stone’s throw from the last place on earth he wants to be. It’s only been three years, but the garage is smaller, dingier than the one his mind's eye remembers. The battered sign reading _Solo’s_ still looms over the lot of dead and dying vehicles; the moiety of cars always made him shiver with revulsion.

For better or worse, some things haven’t changed.

The car takes a cue from Ben’s hesitation, giving one final shudder before its engine dies right there in the middle of the damn driveway. For a moment he almost slams his palms against the wheel in frustration — a gesture he’s made a lot during this cross-country journey — but then he wraps his long fingers into fists, stopping himself. The sedan’s increasing flakiness is probably a testament to its age and rough life, but surely Han will patch the thing up for him. Walking the last hundred feet won’t kill him.

The arid Nevada air rushes past the door to greet him as soon as he pops the door handle, sucking the moisture from his skin like a vampire’s kiss. He squints against the overbearing sunlight, a headache instantly coalescing between his knitted brows. Han’s truck is missing from the front yard but one of the garage’s bay doors is open, and Ben sighs inwardly as he picks out a pair of legs sticking out from under the black muscle car slumbering inside. At least he won’t be stuck outside in this sunbaked oven while he waits — yet again — for his errant father.

Han’s only consistent employee through the years has been his best friend Chewie, but it’s rare to find them apart, Ben realizes dully as he trudges closer. His mouth is dry as the dust, so he might be hallucinating, but he’s been inadvertently sneaking up on a stranger. For one thing, these legs are shapely, slim — not the legs of a hirsute, middle-aged man. For another, Chewie wouldn’t be caught dead wearing microscopic denim jean shorts that nearly disappear around his hips, crinkling like a paper fan as he bends his knees and scooches further under the car.

_A woman._ Ben’s pulse thuds with strangled excitement. For thousands of miles he’s been dreading the weeks ahead, day after day of hiding away in Han’s basement to avoid the old man’s gruff sentimentality … but if someone new’s kicking around the shop, things might prove more interesting.

A violet sneaker at the end of one of the legs rhythmically taps the stained cement floor, and Ben hears the electronic music echoing through the garage becoming less tinny as he approaches. The way the woman’s squished under the onyx car with the radio blasting she probably has no idea he’s here — and even as guilt reprimands him, he deliberately slows his own footfalls, delaying the inevitable to stare at her a few moments longer.

An intricate tattoo snakes its way up the right side of the woman’s body from ankle to thigh, disappearing beneath the frayed hem of her jean shorts. A few inches of bare midriff peek out between her waistband and the hem of her dark shirt, and he can see the ornate piece continue upward in the shadows beneath the rocker panel, flowing toward her full breast like a river of ink.

Ben’s cock twitches, stirring with the sudden rush of heat as he stares at the distracted woman. It’s all too easy to imagine himself between her thighs, feeling them tighten about his waist as she urges him closer. The cords of muscle stand out in her legs as she bends her knees, sliding the creeper a few inches out from under the vehicle, and a crescent of white peeks out of the crux of her Daisy Dukes.

It takes Ben way too long to realize he’s staring at her panties, but when he does the searing ache of need from his sex becomes a thousand times worse, its sudden hardness snarling at him like a roused panther. Jerking off always seemed like less work than finding a hookup — but it’s way too easy right now to imagine hooking his index finger around the fabric and pulling it aside to reveal the woman’s dripping pink slit, finding her with his dull, raw head and flexing his hips to thrust into her…

“Got a bad crankshaft,” an alto voice calls out, echoing weirdly from under the vehicle.

Ben jumps, trying to force the sordid thoughts away, but it’s too late. Half of his mind is already obsessed with fucking her, feeling her soaked channel tightening around him until his fiery seed spurts into her and she shudders, cumming for him, too. The rest of him can’t remember how to form words.

_Shit_.

“That’s why you stalled out when you stopped,” the woman offers. “Might just be the wiring, though — I’ll check it for you. Or your dad will.”

Something about the way she says _your dad_ cuts through the haze of lust, and the hairs on the nape of Ben’s neck prickle with warning. 

The poured cement floor vibrates beneath his shoes as the woman draws her ass down to her heels, rolling herself out from under the car — and Ben’s whole body tingles with shock as he gapes down at her too-familiar face.

Rey.

The last time he saw her she was practically a ghost, flitting through the house without saying more than a word or two to him at a time. He’d been so pissed at his father for remarrying that he’d hardly bothered to take note of her at the time, reserving his wrath for _I’ll-never-try-to-replace-your-real-mom_ Qi'ra.

His stepsister grins up at him, somehow innocent and wicked all at once. “Welcome home.”

Ben pivots on his heel to hide his furious erection. Even after the surprise of seeing Rey his prick is staunchly ignoring him, throbbing harder when all he wants it to do is shut the fuck up. Han’s made it such a damn _mission_ over the years to remind Ben that Qi'ra and her teenage daughter Rey are his family now, too, that he’s all tangled up between ingrained rules and instinct, utterly and completely at a loss.

“You okay?”

He nods, hearing her knees pop behind him as she stands. Shit. _Shit_. She moves around him, and thank hell she’s peering at his face, not the telltale bulge in his jeans.

“Just a headache,” Ben manages, his voice shaky and hoarse. All the blood in his body is camped out in his swollen dick, refusing to budge until he fucks Rey into a mattress. Is she still a virgin? She’s nineteen now, so probably not — maybe she’s taken a cock or two. Either way, it doesn’t matter; he just wants to be inside her, feeling her spine arch as he bends her out of shape and she moans his name.

Fuck. This can’t be happening.

Rey’s dark amber eyes narrow, catlike, as she watches him, tendrils of her hair spilling over her tanned temple as she cocks her head. She was always good-looking in the way girls are, but she’s amped it up in the years since she became a woman, embracing the way her body’s filled out. Both her flared kohl eyeliner and the streak of grease on her cheekbone suit her — and Ben’s erection twitches with impatience as their gazes lock.

“Need an ibuprofen?” she asks, her voice soft with concern.

“Yeah. Maybe.” He breaks her magnetic thrall on him long enough to glance at the doorway to the house. “Is it unlocked?”

Rey nods.

“Think I’ll just go inside.”

Ben steps around her and strides quickly toward the house before she can see what’s happening. Screw the car, it’s not blocking the drive and this hard-on isn’t going anywhere. Somehow, realizing it’s Rey, his legal if not blood sister, that’s turning him on has made things profoundly worse, like dumping gas on an inferno.

“Good to see you, too, Ben,” she calls after him, her voice embroidered with reproach as he hurries inside, dazed with lust.

* * *

The grease-monkey lifestyle. The mysterious tattoo. When did his shy, nerdy stepsister become a bad girl?

More importantly, why is he suddenly so obsessed with her?

Ben glowers at his computer as it boots up, fan grumbling noisily. He’s been down here for hours reading old issues of _New Mechanics_ and staunchly avoiding Rey; Han’s message of a few hours ago to have dinner without him was textbook Dad, but aggravating nevertheless. The idea of Qi'ra being overseas for work for the next few weeks had seemed great when he first read Han’s email, but with her gone that only leaves one buffer to remind himself to chill the fuck out. With that gone, too, he can’t trust himself — and that’s the most troubling thing of all.

He prods the doddering computer to his neglected network of social media accounts, scanning through them as quickly as the ancient processor will allow. He still doesn’t dare emerge upstairs to figure out if Rey’s still in the garage; it’ll be easier to grab his laptop and the rest of his belongings from the comatose sedan once she’s done in the shop for the afternoon. Thank god his old room has a bathroom tucked away off one corner, making it possible to fortify himself in this foxhole as long as need be.

The pictures of her he finds are anything but helpful. Evidently she’s been working in Han’s shop for some time; pictures of converted rat rods don’t usually catch his eye, so he’s been glossing over them in his feeds for years. He stops on one pic of her posing with Han beside an engine that’s been modded to include a can of linseed oil. They’re both grinning, heads tilted towards each other even though Rey’s a full foot shorter than the older man. His arm is slung around her shoulders, displaying an affection that Ben’s rarely seen with anyone, even Qi'ra. Even himself.

It isn’t hard to find his way to other accounts of hers, ones their parents surely don’t follow. Her Tumblr is the richest vein to mine, full of selfies that would surely make Han and Qi'ra have coronaries. They must not know it exists.

Ben’s groin tingles, magma heat gathering as a very different snap than the first catches his eye. Rey’s lying on her side, ribbon-dark tattoo snaking up her body with nothing to interrupt it. It looks phenomenal on her, flared hips making him wonder what her soft ass would feel like crooked against his hips. Her mound is tantalizing out of the frame, her hand cupped over her breast to preserve her modesty — but it’s plenty for Ben’s sick imagination to run wild with.

_Shit_ , it’s just how he imagined her seeing her in the garage. He’d been mere centimeters from seeing the rest of her; another mindless tilt of her hips and she could’ve bared everything to him.

Him. Her brother.

“ _Step_ brother,” Ben forces through a gritted jaw.

His cock doesn’t seem to care about the legal distinction. He must’ve been at half-mast just from perving her pictures, because he’s practically cramping with excitement from the idea of this new Rey lying in bed naked, taking a picture of herself for creeps like him to drool over.

Maybe he’s just overtired, overwrought from the long drive. He should sleep it off; the last few hours of knife-edged alert, listening for her footsteps and trying to ignore her presence, have proved a spectacular failure.

But he has to get her out from under his skin first.

It’s unthinkable, but even as he avoids the picture for a few minutes he knows he’s fighting the inevitable. His usual cache of dirty vids don’t come close to scratching the itch, and image searches for tattoos like hers seem to fall short. Nothing turns him on with that same electric anticipation as the pure drug straight from the source: that fucking picture.

Ben’s unzipping his jeans before he realizes he’s staring at it again, the myriad of other tabs forgotten. His cock is aching, and he actually sighs with relief as he negotiates his massive girth free of its fabric prison.

He hisses with pleasure as he palms himself, and glances down to survey the situation thrusting out of his jeans. Years of implicit and explicit comparison have taught Ben that he’s impressively proportioned; his cock seems more intimidating than ever, inflamed with lust for the last person he should ever want to fuck.

Heat beads beneath every inch of Ben’s skin, and he absentmindedly tugs his shirt off, letting it fall beside the creaky computer chair. Rey’s not the only one who’s changed. His body is corded with lean muscles; he’s just as slim as he was when he lived down here before, but he’s stronger now, hungrier somehow.

Hornier, for damn sure.

The picture bewitches Ben again and he runs his fingertips up and down the underside of his phallus, pulse quickening as he lingers on the ridges of his head. He doesn’t even need lotion or lube; his hand whispers over his sensitive skin and a clear bead of moisture emerges from his aperture to greet him. He breathes heavier as he smears it over himself, imagining the wetness to be Rey’s silken pussy opening for him.

“Rey,” Ben lets himself groan quietly, letting the fantasy become real. The thought of a condom flits through his mind, but he quickly dismisses it; this is fantasy, just for himself, and that means fucking her raw. She could be sitting splayed across his lap right now — it could be her tight, torrid nexus he’s thrusting into, the chair creaking with their combined weight...

He hears the footsteps nearing the top of the stairs only too late. The door swings open unheralded by knocking, and Ben winces against the daylight that suddenly lances through his dark dominion.

“Ben?”

There’s no escape: Rey’s already around the corner, her honey eyes fixed on his, face pale with worry. In a heartbeat her gaze flicks down and he can’t hide the fact that he’s sitting here shirtless before the computer with his cock in his hand.

“Get out!” He snatches up his shirt and yanks it over his head, tucking his frustrated length under the soft cotton hem — but he doesn’t hear the slam of the door, or a scream of shock. Instead Rey’s bare feet pad down the lacquered wooden steps behind him and across the rough carpet of his bedroom floor, the bed squeaking softly with her weight as she sits.

“We gonna talk about this?”

He turns to face her only once he’s sure he’s covered himself. She’s watching him with an expression of perfect innocence, almost as infuriating as her behavior barging in here uninvited. “Talk about _what?_ Your lack of manners?”

“Your weird behavior. You didn’t even really say hey when you got here, and then you just disappeared down here.”

“I didn’t know that we _did_ say hey.” He scowls at her, pulse racing as he shifts his shirt self-consciously. Her gaze keeps moving around — is she looking at his dick? “And it’s my bedroom, where the hell else would I go?”

“Fair enough.” She tilts it to the side, regarding something just over his shoulder. “How about the fact that you’re jerking it to my picture?”

Ben spins back to the computer, his heart slamming with horror, but it’s too late. His guilt is splayed across the screen in all its pixelated glory, Rey’s no doubt bespoke tattoo mocking him like damnation.

_Fuck._ There’s nothing to say to that. He can’t even look at her, just numbly clicks out of the browser.

What comes next? He has nowhere else to go; he wouldn’t be here if he did. He’s never made a mistake of this magnitude, and surely Rey’s going to demand Han kick him out — and rightly so. She must think he’s one of those fuckwads who send unsolicited dick pics, or leave drooling comments about what he’d do to her given the chance,

Ben feels like he’s going to vomit. How can he have screwed up this badly? 

“I made your bed for you.” His stepsister’s voice is as cool as ever, seemingly untroubled by the fact that he’s just given her an eyeful of his erect cock. His gaze finds its way back to her, and she runs her hands over the navy quilt, smoothing it to either side of her. “What would you think if I said I’d gotten myself off on it as I was making it?”

His throat is as parched as the fissured desert earth. “I’d say you’re lying.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” She shrugs, and a sly grin tugs at her lips. “Fun to think about, though, isn’t it?”

“Stop it,” Ben snaps.

“Why?”

“Han’s going to be home any minute.” He swallows hard, trying to maintain the upper hand in the face of her unmitigated nonchalance. “And you’re here.”

“And?”

_And my dick’s still out_ , Ben wants to snap back at her — but he can’t draw attention to his manhood, still lurking beneath the slack hem of his shirt. She can’t have _not_ noticed; he remembers the expression of shock on her face clearly enough.

Rey leans back, propping herself up as she crosses her legs and lets one bare foot tap impatiently in midair. “Better hurry up, then.”

“Hurry up with what?”

This time there’s no mistaking the way her mischievous gaze darts to his sex and back again.

“You can’t be serious,” Ben mutters as his heart thumps like a struck anvil.

Rey’s neat brows twitch higher. “Why not?” She jerks her chin toward his monitor. “You were just doing it without me here. What’s the problem now that I’m watching?”

“I get it,” he growls, abjectly contrite. All the lessons his mother taught him about objectifying women come flooding back; his disappointment in himself is unfathomable. He’s better than this, master of his impulses, not enslaved by them. How could he let this happen? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“You’re not listening to me, Ben.”

His mouths snaps shut, and he scowls at her again. What the actual fuck?

“I said, you’d better hurry,” Rey enunciates clearly. Then she nods again, like she’s expecting him to just whip it out and start going to town on himself.

“I can’t....” He breaks off, uncertain what the hell he’s supposed to say to that. “I don’t-”

“Here. Let me help.”

Ben freezes in his seat like Greek marble as Rey gets up from the bed and moves toward him. She brushes past him close enough for him to feel her heat, leaning forward over his mouse and keyboard. It’s like she’s making a point of shoving her breasts in his face, and he grits his jaw until his teeth creak as he starts to harden again. She smells like the garage, but different, too — sweet somehow, like papaya or exotic flowers. Her very nearness is enough to make his shaft pulse as he stiffens.

Rey glances down at him as she moves back from the computer, and her quick gaze catches what’s happening above his splayed zipper. “See? That’s it.” Ben could swear there’s an extra bounce in that delicious ass of hers as she pads back to the bed and reseats herself, fixing him with that target-lock gaze. “Now just pretend I’m not here.”

His voice is robotic with disbelief; it’s impossible she could mean it. “You want me to jerk it with you here?”

“I put my picture back up, if it helps.”

He spares a glance at the monitor and she isn’t lying. There she is again in her exposed glory, showing everything and nothing all at once.

“You were enjoying looking at me. Why shouldn’t I enjoy looking at you?”

Ben’s cock pulses at the thought of Rey enjoying him, and it’s so terrible and wrong that it almost feels right.

“Tell you what.” Rey leans forward on the foot of his bed, and before he can blink she pulls her ripped tee off over her head. She takes a minute negotiating it past her cute ponytail, but then she’s just sitting there on his bed in her short-shorts and a simple black bra. She’s almost spilling out of her cups, and her breasts ripple pertly as she hooks her thumbs under the straps. “If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“You’re my sister,” he blurts out automatically. She’s six years younger than him, how can she been this forthright — and this perverse?

She shrugs, uncaring. “We’re not _really_ related. Our parents fuck, that’s it.”

“But—”

Rey rolls her green eyes in apparent exasperation. “Yes, Han refers to you as my brother — and yes, I got all the same admonitions you did.”

“You just don’t care?” He gapes at her, and when she twitches one eyebrow again in sexy devilry his cock twitches.

_Fuck._

“We’re not actually touching each other, anyway.” She tugs playfully at her straps, threatening to make them slip from her shoulders. “What d’you say?”

Ben doesn’t say anything with his lips — but he moves the hem of his shirt a little. Enough to make her pull her straps down and move her hands to the narrow bridge of fabric between her breasts. The spot glints beneath the harsh lights; it must be a plastic clasp, but she lingers, waiting. “Now you. Just give me a peek.”

He hesitates, but only for a moment, damn the consequences. His phallus is rock-hard, greedy for her even as he knows how very bad this is — and he pulls his shirt off, too, exposing himself to her.

Rey murmurs wordlessly as she stares at his aroused sex. Her fingers play over the curves of her bra, but she doesn’t look like she’s even aware of it. Hell, she looks like she’s a half-step from drooling over him.

“Why?” he breathes. He has to know that much before he can do anything more.

His stepsister’s gaze finds his, sending a frisson of excitement through him as she shrugs again. “Because you’re hot.”

Ben lets his hand wander along his shaft. Is he really playing this game? Her hungry stare emboldens him: “Now you.”

Rey smirks as she undoes the plastic clasp with tantalizing slowness. He throbs in his own hand as the fabric parts beneath hers, and the sight of her full, naked breasts and their neat pink areolas makes him gasp quietly as she lets the bra slip from her shoulders. “Like what you see?”

He nods breathlessly, palming his cock more firmly now as she finds her nipples. She runs her fingers over them lightly, tracing the circumference of the perfect pink circles and tweaking the points until they stiffen. Her skin is like honey, and the thought of tasting her, letting the flavor of her raspberry-scented body fill his mouth makes him groan.

She giggles — and the sound only makes him ache for her more.

“What are we doing, Rey?” Ben growls, trying to hide the hitch in his voice as the heat coalesces to an ember in his exposed sex.

“Playing around. Getting you off, right now.”

“And then?”

“Then…” She sighs, but her enchanting gaze is still calling to him, making him think of violation and whimpers and groans. “Then we see where this goes, I guess.”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

He’s not sure where the words come from — and though his stepsister’s eyes widen again, he loves it. Is she wondering what he’ll feel like inside her as her gaze flits to his thick, rigid cock again?

“Maybe,” she admits after a moment, a shy smile playing over her lips as she finds him again.

His prick throbs painfully at the knowledge of what they’re both thinking. “Ever fucked anyone before?”

“I’ve never taken someone as big as you, if that’s what you mean,” she returns quickly.

The hint of a whimper in Rey’s voice makes liquid bead at the top of Ben’s head again. He’s getting close now, surprisingly so; maintainance under pressure hasn’t always been his strong suit, but with Rey watching him he’s like a damn porn star, bringing himself closer to the brink as she watches him with those catlike eyes.

“Touch yourself,” he demands — but she shakes her head.

“Only you right now. Be a good boy and maybe I’ll reward you later.”

Her self-assurance is intoxicating, and Ben finds he secretly loves it; two can play at that game. Later, though — Han’ll be home any minute, and Ben can’t go through dinner with his father and Rey and the world’s bigger hard-on. He has to blow this load. “Later?”

Rey laughs again, her warm voice rippling like a brook. “We’ve got all summer.”

She spreads her knees at the end of his bed, letting her fingertips play over the narrow swath of fabric that veils her pussy. Even from across the room Ben can see the denim is damp from riding against her crease.

“Don’t you wonder what it’d be like inside me?” Rey asks delicately as she runs her finger along the seam at the apex of her thighs, lingering at the square notch that holds everything together.

For a moment it’s as though he’s around him already, her tight channel breaking open as he thrusts into her. Whether or not his stepsister’s a virgin, she’s functionally one to him — and that’s the thought that brings Ben to the brink as he strokes himself, grunting quietly as he strains into his clenched fingers.

Then, suddenly, he’s there, his own blistering seed spurting out to soak his fingers. He pumps his hand a few more times and the load just keeps coming, spattering his naked chest up to his shoulder as he thinks of burying himself in Rey.

Rey’s eyes practically glow as she stares at him, panting a little through her parted lips. They’re the same sweet pink as her bared nipples, shuddering now with her sharp breaths.

“Ben—” she begins.

They both jump as the sound of tires against gravel echoes through the house.

“Han,” Rey hisses, and his heart damn near stops.

She slips her bra back over her shoulders, bending forward and tucking her breasts back into their prison in one smooth motion. She yanks her tee back on in the next instant and then it’s like she wasn’t just touching herself, watching with rapt attention as he blew his load all over himself.

Rey scoops Ben’s shirt off the floor, tossing it at his cumstained chest as she darts back up the stairs. 

“Clean yourself up, you perv!” she giggles, and then she’s lost to the sunlight streaming in from outside as Ben sits frozen in his old chair, dumbfounded by whatever the fuck just happened between them.


	2. Rey's Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben’s face is pale above his dark t-shirt and black jeans, and she turns in time to see him let his hand drop from the door. That traitorous squeak of the hinges gave him away, otherwise he might’ve snuck up on her completely.
> 
> Qi’ra would be impressed. Rey certainly is.
> 
> She draws a ragged breath as they stare at each other, trying to convince herself she hasn’t blundered into another lust-fueled dream, or walked in on _him_. He’s eyeing her not like a stepbrother should but like prey, as though she’s blundered into his trap.
> 
> “Ben,” she murmurs without thinking. It aches to see that haunting look on his face, the one that burns into Rey like nothing else in the world matters but her. It’s stronger than gravity — but after last night...
> 
> Han’s voice echoes up from downstairs. “Find what you were looking for, kid?”
> 
> “Found it,” Ben shouts back without even flinching.
> 
> Ah. Well then.
> 
> Suddenly his smoldering gaze makes sense — and her skin prickles so completely that she feels it to the roots of her hair.
> 
> He came to finish what she started last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, my first note did *not* age well >.<
> 
> Other places for smexy Rey & Ben/Kylo goodness:  
> \+ [Craving Kylo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951468/chapters/34645847)  
> \+ [Breaking Rey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15129119/chapters/35081435)
> 
> Remember what Ben did in the basement? You won't believe what Rey does next... ;)

Rey slows to a walk as soon as she reaches the top of the basement stairs. Ben’s bedroom is really the only place among the house, the garage, or the junkyard where she’d have to explain herself if Han walked in unannounced; anywhere else is safe territory. That's one of the rules of this dangerous game she's playing.

If not for the sound of her stepfather’s battered Ford F-1 pulling up outside, she might’ve won the jackpot on her first try. Talk about beginner’s luck!

She snorts to herself at the mental image of confetti filling Ben’s bedroom as he cums — but memories of him getting off in front of her fill her mind, and the sound tightens to an unbecoming whimper. And he was jacking it to Rey’s own picture, too … _that_ was unexpected.

Her stepbrother had been as in the middle of his goth phase when their parents got married, so part of her will always see him as a lanky tree of a guy, towering over her with his already-dark hair dyed even darker. Even if he no longer wears eyeliner his trademark glower certainly hasn’t changed; she got the full brunt of _that_ when she walked in on him.

His anger at her intrusion had been fearsome and beautiful. His strange shyness, on the other hand, had been unexpected.

Han had shrugged yesterday when she’d volunteered to defrag the hard drive of Ben’s desktop, happy to let her handle what he always called “that techie crap.” Not that the tower didn’t need a tune-up or five — it was so ancient that it practically had to be kick-started — but the pretext gave her plenty of time to install the spyware jack between Ben’s computer and its monitor. Strictly speaking the device’s intended user is helicopter parents, but Rey has no doubt the developers are raking in the lion’s share of their profits from paranoid spouses.

And pervs like her.

Ben had been home for hours before Rey’s phone dinged with the alert that he’d started up the compy. By then she was stuffed back under the Barracuda — _properly_ finishing things up now instead of just pretending to — and she’d almost tuned out the sound. Finn had been blowing up her phone since he found out Ben would be back for the summer, and she wasn’t ready to deal with that flaming dumpster fire of a friendship just yet.

To her delight, her stepbrother had gone right for her profile and started poking around. She’d chosen the perfect moment to barge in on him, too; he’d nearly fallen out of his chair in shock. Given how voraciously he’d been poring over that Tumblr photo she’d thought he would’ve jumped at the chance to show himself off to her — but not quiet, awkward Ben.

Not even when he has so very much to show off, as it turns out.

Rey bites the inside of her cheek, counting on the pain to quiet her dirty remembrances. It’s a vain gesture, though. Nothing can efface the memory of Ben’s dark, breathtaking eyes taking her in, hungering for her as he strokes himself to completion.

_Fuck!_

Rey’s rubbery legs don’t help her hurry back to the garage any faster. She’s barely emerged from the breezeway before Han rounds the bay door from the dark front yard. His crochety frown evaporates as he sees Rey. “There y’are, kid.”

“I was about to close the door,” she says quickly, trying to forestall the chastening that’s coming. “I didn’t forget about it.”

“Course not,” Han shoots back as he slides the bay door shut for the night. “When have you ever done that—

“—except for that _one_ time?” Rey joins him, echoing the older man’s gruff tone before dissolving into giggles. She’d be irritated by the repetition if it was her own mother nagging her, but the mechanic is such a sassbucket that he never really annoys her. Qi’ra’s gone so often that it’s usually just the two of them in the house these days, anyway, maybe Chewie if he’s around. Their rough edges have softened each other over time; Rey knows this is how the old grump shows he cares.

A crooked smile crosses Han’s face, and he shakes his head in mock disbelief. “Guess I’ve said that one a few times, huh?”

“I keep telling you, no one wants to steal any of your hunk-a-junk cars.”

The old man waves a wrench in her direction. “And I keep tellin’ _you_ , it’s the _tools_ I’m worried about — they’re more expensive and way the hell easier to carry!”

Rey chuckles to herself as she packs up her tools, but she turns back to find Han staring at the jet-black Barracuda. His cheeks are a blotchy blush underneath a veil of grease and windblown sand; he’s probably had a few over at Chewie’s, and it’s easy enough to guess what he’s thinking.

“Ben’s going to love it,” she says.

The quiet words are enough to rouse Han from his reverie, but when he meets her gaze she sees how truly uncertain he is. “You think?”

“A rebuilt 1970 Plymouth Barracuda?” Rey offers her warmest, most reassuring smile. “Yeah, he’s gonna flip.” 

It might be an overstatement — after all, if her stepbrother was reluctant to engage with a half-naked woman sitting on his bed, a rebuilt muscle car might not prove more tempting — but it reassures Han all the same. By the time the garage is picked up, locked up, and the lights turned out, the older man is back to his cranky self.

“Did you have any dinner yet?” Rey asks as the head back through the breezeway.

Han shakes his head.

“Are you serious?” Of the things that might be lacking in Chewie’s house (cats, a clean space to sit, occasionally toilet paper), food never numbered among them. “Didn’t he make you something?”

“He always cooks his burgers bloody,” he complains. “Doesn’t sit right.”

Rey glares askance at him. “Take an antacid if you know it’s going to give you heartburn.”

“Your mom wouldn’t want me eating burgers anyway,” Han grumbles, and she rolls her eyes.

“I’ll heat you up some leftovers. In the meantime, drink some pepto.”

Han shoulders open the door to the humble kitchen, and Rey’s heart stops dead in her chest as she sees Ben poking around in the kitchen cabinets. He never _did_ remember where anything was kept.

The dark-haired man turns at the sound of the door opening, and it’s as though all the air in the world has been sucked away. They’re standing in a void, just Ben, his father, and Rey at the fringe behind them. She can’t see Han’s face, so she has no idea what’s passing between the father and son as they regard one another for the first time in more than three years — but then Ben’s gaze finds her and even Han is gone, and it’s just them.

What’s Ben thinking as he stares at her, his ink-dark eyes raging like a silent hurricane? There’s fear woven through that storm, but hope, too — and the promise of something darker, more powerful than even Rey with all her twisted imaginings can think up.

“Good to see ya, kid.” Han’s voice shatter Rey’s trance and suddenly she’s back on the breezeway threshold, letting the door hang open like a gobsmacked idiot. It’s doubtful Han noticed her faux pas; he’s too distracted trying to hide his nervousness at seeing his son.

She can practically see the old man weighing whether to offer a handshake or go for the hug — and it physically pains her when Ben just nods in greeting. _Fuck_ , he’s icy.

“Hi, Dad.”

Well, at least that’s something. Han visibly relaxes at the D-word. A verbal hug is better than nothing, after all — and Rey quietly shuts the door, then slips over to the refrigerator. That’s something she’s inherited from Qi’ra: the ability to pass unseen when she wants to. Right now she’s a wraith, popping the suctioned door open and slipping the Pyrex of lasagna out of the fridge without losing sight of the two men. They’re squared off like gunfighters, the cupboard behind Ben yawning open like a lost embrace.

“How’s your mom?” Han asks stiffly. It’s an obligatory question, of course. Rey’s only met Leia a couple times, but she seems very put-together, a stereotypical A-type personality. No wonder it didn’t work out between them.

“She’s fine.”

“Was the drive okay? Chewie said things looked pretty backed up at the 80 and 95.”

“No, it was fine.”

It’s one _fine_ too many — and the elder Solo’s brow creases in concern as he gestures toward the front of the house. “Yeah? That why your car’s parked halfway up my drive?”

“It got me here,” Ben counters, and he has a point.

Rey tries not to snicker as she pops a presliced portion of lasagna into the microwave and starts it running. “It’s the crankshaft,” she murmurs, quietly enough that neither of the men should hear her over the drowsy hum — but Ben looks at her sharply, lingering a moment too long.

The nape of her neck prickles with awareness, and she reflexively clenches her thighs, pressing her knees together like the Symplegades. She’d forgotten how soaked she was, and the reminder makes her grit her teeth as a tremor of wanting runs through her.

“Ah, forget the damn car,” Han grumbles. “I’m just glad you got here okay.”

There’s an awkward pause; neither man knows what to say next. Wonderful. Ben is so staunchly avoiding her gaze that it must be on purpose. That or she’s faded into the background of his life, unseen again like she always was to him.

But that stare… 

“School going okay?” Han manages with herculean effort once they’ve all started fidgeting.

“Good. Expensive.”

Rey can almost hear Han raising his eyebrows as he makes his _hoo boy_ face. “Yeah, well, that’s Cambridge for ya, right?”

“Suppose so,” Ben agrees quietly.

The microwave’s harsh beep makes them all jump. Rey rummages in the silverware drawer for a fork, deliberately keeping her head down as her pulse whooshes through her ears.

“Moved your stuff in yet?” she hears Han ask from the far side of the kitchen island.

“I’ve got a few more things in the car.”

_That_ nearly does make a laugh erupt from her throat, A few more things? More like everything; if she’s not mistaken, he hasn’t brought in a single box since he arrived back. And that’s her fault, of course.

Maybe she’s pushing his buttons in the wrong way. But _that stare…_

She fetches the plate from the nuker, fingers trembling so hard that she nearly drops it all in a clattering mess.

“Thanks,” Han says. He jerks his head toward the still-unwrapped lasagna pan. “Want some?”

Oh fuck. Rey’s filter has started slipping since she started working in the shop and spending more time in Tosche Station with Finn and the crew — and it’s too obvious an opportunity to miss.

Time to feel her porn star self.

“Yeah, Ben,” she drawls, eyes locked on his as she sashays back behind the island, swaying her hips a little extra as she walks. Han’s tipsy and distracted, there’s no way he’ll notice. She swings around the far side of the island and leans forward, tugging her ripped tee down off one shoulder. “Do you want some?”

Ben goes rigid like he’s having a heart attack. His furious gaze is locked on her bra strap, like in displaying the line of black fabric she’s flashing him.

Han steps toward his son, protective even now that Ben’s long outgrown him. “Hey, you okay?”

Rey’s heart bangs a warning against her ribcage as Ben tears his eyes away from her to regard his father. His throat flushes with a ruddy blush, and he stumbles back a step like he tripped over his own feet. “Yeah. Just remembered something I have to grab— uh, my computer.”

“Yeah. _See?_ ” She straightens just in time as Han turns back to her, brandishing the fork. “What do I always tell you? Don’t leave anything you care about outside at night.” He pivots back to Ben like a demented, fork-wielding fairy. “And don’t forget to lock the damn doors when you’re done!”

“Yeah, Dad.”

Han’s mouth tightens in the semblance of a smile, and he nods to his son. “Good to have you home, kid.”

Her stepfather ambles off through the open doorway into the living room, plate in hand. A familiar symphony of sounds follows: the squeak of Han’s chair as he sinks into it, his grunt as he kicks the recliner back, and the sudden sound of television garble.

Rey’s heart sinks as Ben pops the front door, and the clamor of announcers crescendos from the other room. It’s been such an odd day, from waking up with a fluttering horde of butterflies in her belly knowing today was the day she’d finally see him again, to the hours of lovingly prepping the Barracuda, then that amazing whatever-that-was downstairs, and now…

The front door slams, and the floor shudders with footsteps — but instead of receding they’re getting stronger, approaching instead of vanishing out into the mudroom and the dusty drive beyond. 

She looks up just in time, reeling back as Ben strides toward her, all six-foot-something of blazing intensity. The island presses against the backs of her thighs, reminding her that there’s nowhere to run, and her stomach flips as Ben looms over her, brow knitted like a nightmare prince. He glances over her shoulder as if to reassure himself that his father’s out of sight, but then his attention is completely fixed on her.

“Rey…”

She could cum from that alone: the ragged, breathless way he says her name.

“You were saying something. Downstairs, before.”

“What?” Rey murmurs dazedly. He smells so good that she’s afraid she’ll try to drink him in completely — and it’s not body wash or cologne, it’s just _him_.

He ducks his head a little, peering hard at her in a way that makes the soles of her feet rush with heat. “You said my name.”

His full, crooked lips are begging to be kissed.

“Ben.”

“Yes,” he breathes — and in that moment it doesn’t matter who they are to each other. He’s Ben Solo, and she’s Rey Johnson, and they want each other and that’s all that matters.

He sways, but then the darkness in his eyes fades and he’s quiet, inscrutable Ben Solo again. 

“What are we doing? Rey, we can’t… I can’t… I haven’t even seen you in years.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” she says stubbornly, but she can see the answer in his beautiful, angular face.

It’s not enough.

The inner corners of her eyes prick with pain. She moved too fast; she hadn’t even let him settle in before trying to jump him. _Idiot_ , Rey!

Ben’s still holding her in that magetic gaze, a step and a lightyear away all at once. Too far for her to reach — he’s making that clear.

Rey swallows hard, desperate not to sob with humiliation. Everything had seemed so right, and now it’s all gone so horribly wrong. “I’m sorry, then. Because _I_ … I could.”

Has her lanky, gorgeous stepbrother moved close to her again, or is she just hoping he will? “What happened to you?” he mutters.

She might as well admit the truth of why she’s hunting him like Artemis. Perhaps tonight is the only night they’ll speak this openly, so she can’t hold back. Tell him now or tell him never. “Whenever I imagined my first time, it was always with you. I know we’ve never really known each other, that we shouldn’t or we’re not supposed to but…”

Rey’s voice fails her, and the rest of the words stick in her throat, unvoiced.

_I want to know you. I wish you would see me._

Ben’s quiet for a long moment. “What makes you think I’m not a virgin, too?”

“No, you can’t be,” Rey chuckles nervously — but he only stares at her, those luminous eyes open to hers as she realizes they hold no shred of deceit. “That’s impossible!

“Improbable, maybe. But here we are.”

She’d almost jumped into his naked lap less than an hour ago without even bothering to think or ask… Holy _fuck_ had she wanted to; she was clean and on the pill, and if Han hadn’t come home… 

Wow. Ben the virgin. This night holds no end of surprises.

Rey draws in a slow, cool breath to steady her nerves and ask the question, the only thing that matters: “So _do_ you wanna…?”

She lets the question hang in the air, unfinished.

“Honestly…” Ben regards her soberly. “I don’t know."

It's in no way the enthusiastic consent she was hoping for — and Rey’s throat draws noose-tight. “Okay.”

She slips away from Ben. That was probably foreseeable, but she’d hoped…

Oh well. It doesn’t matter now.

The tears stay locked away until she reaches her own bedroom. The click of the door closing behind her unlocks the floodgates, and she cries into the crook of her arm to muffle the sound,

* * *

The house is quiet when Rey's alarm beeps her awake. It's just as well; Han will be sleeping off last night's fun at Chewie's for another hour or so, and Ben… 

"...is not my concern anymore," she mutters to remind herself of last night's mortifying failure.

She grabs her towel and stomps to the bathroom, only just now remembering that she didn’t change into her PJs last night. Her sock and violet sneakers and socks have mysteriously absented themselves, presumably kicked off at the foot of her bed, and as for the rest…

Rey grimaces down at her strategically chosen ripped tee and microshorts. If she never sees this outfit again it'll be too soon. Any reminder of last night, Ben, and what could've been are pure agony — and her gut twists, punishing her doubly for trying to seduce her stepbrother.

The house is bleary to her sleep-smudged eyes, but she’s lived here long enough that her feet know their way to the upstairs bathroom. She tosses her towel and her phone down beside the sink and leans on the counter, trying to get her head in the game for today. When’s the old man — never _her_ old man, not really, even now that Ben’s rejected her advances — going to finally tell Ben what they’ve been working on?

Ben…

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hisses quietly, hearing the word echo back from the sink as she hangs her head.

The sink squeaks, and she squints down at it in confusion. Everything’s as it should be — but a flicker of movement in the mirror catches her eye. She looks up to see the door swinging almost all the way shut, and on the near side—

Ben’s face is pale above his dark t-shirt and black jeans, and she turns in time to see him let his hand drop from the door. That traitorous squeak of the hinges gave him away, otherwise he might’ve snuck up on her completely.

Qi’ra would be impressed. Rey certainly is.

She draws a ragged breath as they stare at each other, trying to convince herself she hasn’t blundered into another lust-fueled dream, or walked in on _him_. He’s eyeing her not like a stepbrother should but like prey, as though she’s blundered into his trap.

“Ben,” she murmurs without thinking. It aches to see that haunting look on his face, the one that burns into Rey like nothing else in the world matters but her. It’s stronger than gravity — but after last night...

Han’s voice echoes up from downstairs. “Find what you were looking for, kid?”

“Found it,” Ben shouts back without even flinching.

Ah. Well then.

Suddenly his smoldering gaze makes sense — and her skin prickles so completely that she feels it to the roots of her hair.

He came to finish what she started last night.

Rey squares her shoulders and lifts her chin haughtily, suddenly grateful that she fell asleep in these clothes. This outfit is way easier to rock in bad bitch mode than her unicorn tee and pink unicorn boxers. “I was here first.”

“You sound pretty confident of that.”

His cockiness gives her pause. _Was_ he here first, lurking in the shadows behind the door, or did he slip in behind her? Either way the end result is the same — and she can feel her pulse quickening as he saunters closer. 

“Your dad gets on my case if I’m late for work,” she says quietly.

Ben shrugs. “So get ready for work.”

Then he waits.

Rey glares up at her stepbrother. He towers over her, returning her gaze with equal force and stirring something deep in her belly that no one’s ever made her feel before. Certainly no one in Anchorhead. He’s keeping his slim arms by his sides, but she can see that they’re corded with lean muscles. 

Is he even going to close the door?

She glances pointedly to the door and then back again, but his lips tighten in a self-assured smirk. They’re playing chicken now — and Rey’s not going to be the one to flinch.

She snatches up her towel from beside the sink and hangs it on the hook beside the shower, shooting Ben a saucy, cat-eyed glance. It’s easy to ditch her ragged tee, but her fingers are still reluctant to let the garment slip to the floor.

His shadowed eyes flare with desire, but he’s just watching. Like after last night it’s his right to watch. And maybe it is.

What next? Rey’s grateful her socks are already off, so she can avoid the awkward hopping-around dance that would necessarily follow. So it’ll have to be either her denim shorts or her black bra.

She lets her fingers slide along the bra’s gentle curves, and a tremor of excitement ripples through her as she watches Ben’s gaze following her hands lower, to the metal button just below her navel. He stares unabashedly as she thumbs it open and works the zipper down — making sure to move slowly enough that he growls softly with impatience.

Rey works the shorts off her hips and they fall to the floor with a soft thud. She bites her lower lip nervously as Ben surveys her, and he presses his lips together in the next heartbeat. Is he wondering, as she is, what it’d feel like for his mouth to claim hers?

She’s only in her underwear now, simple black panties that match her bra. It shouldn’t feel any different than a bikini, but her heart’s pounding anyway. Her body knows the difference.

Her stepbrother’s must, too, because his elegant fingers flex, digging into his jeans for a brief moment before he stills the gesture.

Now it’s Rey’s bra’s turn — but her hands hesitate on the plastic clasp. She flashed Finn once when they all went swimming at Rose’s house, but that was because the other woman dared Rey to. And then there was last night with Ben, of course, which is _really_ the only time that counted. But never in daytime like this, with a man she craves staring her square in the eye.

A muted slam from downstairs makes Rey jump; she’d almost forgotten about Han. He’ll be counting on her to finish the car for Ben.

It’s like Ben can sense what she’s thinking as he regards her somberly. “Better get a move on.”

Rey twists the bra open with a sigh. Ben must like that — he smiles faintly but catches himself. 

She takes a minute to start up the shower, bending over to show off her ass. It could be just a floorboard creaking but there’s a strangled noise behind her, and when she turns back that blush is creeping up his throat again and staining his cheeks.

Fuck, he wants her _bad_. Maybe almost as badly as she wants him.

Since he liked her ass so much, she turns sideways, denying him a chance to see anything interesting as she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and drags them down to the bathmat. Ben groans quietly as she steps into the shower, and she turns back to face him, letting him see her fully as the rushing water floods her skin.

The dark man’s expression is half Solo, half the strange and restrained Skywalker — and all hunger. 

And Ben _is_ a man now, not the angry boy he’d been when they first met nor the young man he’d become after that. Three years away have changed him even more, and the person now drinking in her naked body is a veritable stranger … but still she knows him. At least enough to suspect he’d like this.

Rey lets the water run over her, wetting her dark hair up to the shoulder, smirking as Ben’s gaze wanders across her bare skin and his lips part in mindless fascination. He traces the line of her tattoo with his eyes, following it up along her hip and stomach to its terminus at her right breast. That smexy Tumblr snap notwithstanding he’s never seen the sinuous ink ribbon completely unfurled like this — and it’s gratifying to know that he appreciates her design.

She bites back a giggle. With her smudged eyeliner and locks dyed dark, Rey must look to Ben like he used to look to _her_.

He leans back, admiring her beneath the cascade — and there’s that same tension between them like there was last night, like they’re sharing breaths even though they’re half a room apart.

Then Ben takes a step forward, and Rey doesn’t have to tear her gaze from his nighted one to see one hand drift to the button of his jeans.

Too late they hear Han in the corridor outside the door. “Ben, where the hell—”

The grizzled mechanic shoulders his way past the parted bathroom door, and Rey yanks the shower curtain around her body with a shriek. 

_Fuck!_

Han reels backward, desperate to look anywhere but at his naked stepdaughter, and Ben seizes the opportunity to dart out into the corridor ahead of his old man. He glances back at her, and for a second he flashes her a cocky grin that she’s never seen on him before a howling Han manages to blunder back out into the hall and yank the door shut.

“Can ya just close a damn door once in a while, Rey?” Han yowls from beyond the closed as Rey wrenches the tap closed, throttling the torrent. “Is that so much to ask?”

“The sound of a shower means someone is _showering!_ ” Rey shrieks back. Her heart is slamming so fiercely that she’s got an insta-headache — but she grabs her towel and tiptoes to the closed door to eavesdrop.

“Guess she forgot about you, too,” Han is saying, sounding rattled. “She’s gotten…”

“Rey?” Ben asks, and she chokes back a snicker at his incredulous tone.

“She keeps her mom busy, I’ll say that much.”

She forces her jaw to unclench. He’s right about that, even though she’s too pigheaded to admit as much. It seems like every time Qi’ra is home these days one or the other of them blows up.

“You mean the—” Ben is saying by the time she’s gotten her rage under control. She’s missed something — and she sneaks the door open a crack.

She nearly slams it again a moment later; the two men are standing just a few feet away down the hall. Han’s evidently been too traumatized to move any further away than that.

Fortunately, the older man’s got his back to the door — traumatized but not taking any chances, it would seem — but Ben’s turned enough toward the bathroom to catch the movement. His eyes lock on Rey’s, but he otherwise gives no sign he’s seen her.

“That ain’t the half of it,” Han grouches. “Spends practically all her free time in Anchorhead, and no good’s gonna come of _that_.”

He’s referring to Rose, Poe, and — to a lesser degree — Finn, of course. How dare she have friends her own age! Rey rolls her eyes, and maybe it’s just her imagination but it looks like Ben tightens his mouth to keep from smirking.

“I’m sure she knows how to handle herself.”

Han straightens sharply, demanding Ben’s attention. “I’m not worried about _her_ , i’m worried about _me!_ Qi’ra will bury me in one of my own cars if I let her baby get brought home in the back of a cruiser again.”

The older man looks away long enough for Ben to quirk an eyebrow at her. “Rey?”

She thinks he’s asking _her_ for a moment, but Han misses it completely. “Yeah, _Rey_. Your sweet little stepsister ain’t so sweet anymore. Her mom hardly knows her know, let alone the rest of us. The two of us get by, but that’s not the same thing. So I was thinkin’...” He coughs uncomfortably, almost laying a hand on his son’s shoulder and then thinking better of it. Oh, Han. “Maybe in between things Mr. MIT can be a good influence on her this summer, huh?”

“Maybe,” Ben says quietly. Then he offers his father a wan smile. “And that’s _Doctor_ MIT, actually.”

“Pardon me, _doctor_.” Rey swings the door closed just in time as Han turns and heads for the stairs, keeping the knob twisted so the latch doesn’t click and give her away. “You sound just like your mother.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Wasn’t a compliment,” Han tosses back saucily as they clomp down the steps.

Once she’s sure the two men are safely away Rey lets the handle go. She’d really love to efface the memory of her stepfather walking in on her from her memory, but Han’s unfortunate intrusion has given her two valuable pieces of information. First, Han will be expecting to see them together. And second, Ben is willing to work around his father’s presence to play Rey’s game.

He wants her. Stepbrother or not, there was no mistaking the lust in his depthless eyes.

She locks the door and checks her phone. There’s still time enough to take a shower if she hurries — and as Rey steps back into the torrid rush, she grins to herself, thinking of all the cruel ways she’s going to torture Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if you have post-TROS angst and need something to do with it, I've finished an alt-world novel starring two characters really similar to Rey & Ben -- and I need readers! Hit me up [here](https://www.elegygoldsmith.com/contact) if you have a bunch of time/ angst/ rage against dudes ruining our fandoms >:(
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!! Hit me up in the comments if you have thoughts! (y'all are wonderful!)
> 
> xoxo,  
> Elegy


	3. The Right Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ben.”
> 
> He’s got the steering wheel locked in a death vise, but then her left hand closes on his right, and it’s like electricity is suddenly pouring through him.
> 
> When was the last time someone touched him? Leaving Massachusetts? No, his mother had only been a voice crackling through satellites. Certainly no one at school — unless maybe Phasma punched him in the arm as a joke. She can show her affection in somewhat violent ways.
> 
> Rey slips her fingers under Ben’s, squeezing his hand for the briefest moment before falling away.
> 
> A shiver runs through him, curling into the nape of his neck and making his hair stand on end. When he turns to look at Rey her eyes are huge like a doe’s, soft and radiating concern.
> 
> He’d do anything to feel her touch again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smutty goodness at Solo's Garage! I probably could've made this considerably shorter, so apologies if it's a mega-read, but I don't want to let any of this characters down (especially not Ben & Rey!).
> 
> If you're liking this fic and/or have thoughts about things you'd like to see, drop me a comment here or on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElegyGoldsmith)!
> 
> And if you need some steamy BDSM action before the next chapter drops, check out [Craving Kylo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951468/chapters/34645847) :)
> 
> Lots of love to you all in this rocky holiday season — thank goodness we have each other <3

“Wow.” Ben knows how underwhelmed he sounds, but he’s straight-up baffled. A _car?_ He’d expected Han to be grudging enough about helping him patch up the sedan, and now the old man’s trying to hand Ben the keys to this vintage beast. “Thanks, Dad, it’s great.”

“ _Great?_ ” 

His guts twist as Han’s hopeful expression crumbles. He and his father never seemed to speak the same language, and Han’s misreading him now, too.

The old mechanic gestures curtly to the next bay, where Chewie’s regarding Ben’s battered silver car as one might a rotting fish carcass. “Kid, you’re one step away from having to cut holes in the floor of that thing and sell it to Fred Flintstone!”

“That’s not what I—” Ben begins hotly before cutting himself off. There’s no point trying to argue with his father when Han’s in a mood, but evidently this is turning into a day marked by futility. 

He gestures to the chrome-and charcoal monster, trying not to let the anger simmering in his ears rise louder and deafen him. “If you’d just help me get my car back on the road, you could sell this one and turn a profit.”

It was the wrong idea to mention money; nothing’s surer to make the old man blow his top. 

“You think I need money?” Han seethes. “What, because my place isn’t as nice as your mom’s?”

Ben grits his jaw to bite back a retort — and as his eyes fall on the manual shifter, he sees a way to deflect the twister brewing on Han’s stormy countenance. “Dad, I can’t drive stick.”

Now it’s Han’s turn to be baffled. “Whaddya mean you _can’t drive stick?_ I taught you when you were in middle school.”

“And I never used that skill ever again, so I forgot.”

Han mutters something that sounds like it includes the words _no son of mine_ , but the jarring clang of a metal tool hitting the cement floor makes both of them jump. Chewie curses, and all three men look at Rey, who smiles sweetly as she retrives the wrench from the floor.

Ben’s been staunchly avoiding looking at Rey since Han brought him in here. She’s wearing the same grease-streaked overalls that Chewie is — only for the first time in Ben’s life, he’s wondering what’s underneath the breast lapel patch reading _Solo’s Garage_.

Scratch that. After this morning’s near-miss in the upstairs bathroom, Ben knows _exactly_ what’s under Rey’s coveralls … and that’s only making things worse.

He forces his gaze away from his stepsister’s pocketless derriere (is she wearing shorts under the coveralls, or pants? Surely not _nothing_ …) and he find something that might distract him and his father from their respective discomfort. “Finally framed it, I see.”

Han follows Ben’s gaze to the picture on the wall, and a wry grin touches his lips. It was always clipped to the fridge with a magnet when Ben was a kid, but it’s much better suited to a place of honor in the garage.

His father’s decades younger in the picture, but there’s no mistaking the same roguish smile. The Triumph beside him is long since lost, destroyed in a fiery wreck, but the man on the far side of the bike is almost as familiar as Han himself.

“He’s comin’ over tonight, y’know,” Han says grudgingly as Ben stares at Lando’s youthful face. The two men were probably only a little older than Ben is now when the picture was taken, but it’s still a lifetime ago. Han might’ve even been still hung up on Qi’ra then.

“Really.”

“Poker night, he and Nien are coming over.” Han’s grin widens evilly. “And Lando will absolutely lose his mind if you call him—”

“ _Dad_ ,” Ben says sharply. Rey’s theoretically puttering around at her workbench, but her head’s turned far enough to the side that she might be listening. She probably is. Ben doubts she does anything by mistake. Just like him.

His father turns back to the black Barracuda, gazing at it longingly. “You should really take this thing out for a spin.” Ben tries to interject, but Han holds up one hand, waving him off. “Take it. I mean it. Call it three years’ worth of birthdays.” He raises his voice: “Rey!”

“Yeah, boss?”

Her voice is just casual enough to sound uncaring — but when Han tosses her the keys, she turns on her heel fast enough to catch them.

“Show him how to drive this thing, wouldja?”

Rey’s expression is her usual icy focus, but as she passes between the two men she throws Ben a tiny but undeniably sassy smirk.

He locks his knees to keep a tremor from running through them.

_Fuck_ , she’s smooth.

* * *

The Barracuda knifes out of the junkyard like the predatory fish for which it’s named, screaming out onto the empty street beyond and picking up speed. Ben doesn’t realize he’s got the door in a death grip until pain crackles through the fingers of his right hand.

Rey, on the other hand, looks like she’s having the time of her life.

“It’s a 1970 Plymouth Barracuda with a 4-speed 440-6 engine,” she’s saying in an excited tone that he remembers hearing her use years ago. Only then she was talking about computers, not cars — and something clicks in Ben’s mind, bringing him one piece closer to understanding the puzzle of how and when Rey changed into this gearhead hottie. “It’s got the original Chrysler OHV V-8 engine, and…”

She trails off, waiting — but the car continues to pick up speed as she shifts, hurtling down the barren road like a rocket.

Ben’s heart hammers like a blacksmith. Shit, they must be going eighty, maybe more—

“There it is!” Rey cries delightedly — and to Ben’s relief, the engine’s howling finally levels off. “A hundred miles per hour in fifteen seconds. That’s a bit off peak performance, but even so...”

For a moment, as she beams at him, he can see vestiges of the stepsister he remembers from all those years ago. But that girl would never have spoken to him so directly. Ben’s ashamed to realize that he was so absorbed with his own growing pains back then that she left as slight an impression on him as a shadow.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Probably. Ben feels torn apart enough as it is, wrenched between his sense of things from three years ago and his tenuous sense of things now.

It certainly wasn’t a problem for Rey this morning, standing in shower with nothing on but that scrolling inkwork tat and a smile. And he’d been right about to join her when Han walked in.

Ben clenches his jaw, struggling to keep all the blood from pooling in his cock as he watches her. What is it about Rey that makes him feel so … _different?_ Commanding, even.

Whatever the difference is, she’d liked it, too. Enough to strip down completely without him having to lift a finger.

Rey neatly pops the car into neutral and slows, turning into the abandoned air strip down the street. Ben frowns at her, but she’s wearing that smug grin again that he’s starting to suspect means _gotcha_.

“I may not have been around the last few years,” he says carefully as his heart starts to race, “but I’m pretty sure there’s nothing here but tumbleweeds.”

“Bite your lovely tongue!”

He’s trying so hard not to gape at that, and then Rey winks at him, too, and it’s like she’s _trying_ to kill him. 

She pets the steering wheel, comfortingly. “I wouldn’t bring this baby anywhere near a nasty old tumbleweed, would, I, darling?”

Ben Solo hasn’t been jealous of a vehicle so much in his life — including that old Triumph he and Lando used to squabble over, the Falcon.

Rey slows the car to a stop, then shifts it into park before grinning at him again. “Come on. Time to remind you how to drive.”

* * *

“Shift,” Rey bawls from the passenger’s seat as the car bucks like it’s trying to throw him. “ _Shift_ , Ben!”

He tries, but it’s too late, The engine his stepsister was so excitedly telling him about on the way here sputters and dies.

He angrily throws the car into park. Maybe it’s because Rey was watching him that he stalled out — or maybe it’s about two decades without practice, Either way, it’s not helping ease the furious knot gathering in his chest.

“It’s nothing to get upset about, I promise.”

Her voice is soft, kindly, but he doesn’t dare look at her. Failure is hard enough to bear without seeing it reflected in someone else’s eyes. 

“Ben.”

He’s got the steering wheel locked in a death vise, but then her left hand closes on his right, and it’s like electricity is suddenly pouring through him.

When was the last time someone touched him? Leaving Massachusetts? No, his mother had only been a voice crackling through satellites. Certainly no one at school — unless maybe Phasma punched him in the arm as a joke. She can show her affection in somewhat violent ways.

Rey slips her fingers under Ben’s, squeezing his hand for the briefest moment before falling away.

A shiver runs through him, curling into the nape of his neck and making his hair stand on end. When he turns to look at Rey her eyes are huge like a doe’s, soft and radiating concern.

He’d do anything to feel her touch again.

“Just … try to _feel_ it,” the dark-haired woman tells him gently. “If you’ve driven stick shift before, some part of you remembers. Try it again.”

“And how will this be different than the previous four times?”

“I’ll help you.”

Ben’s not quite sure what to say to that, so he twists the key off then back on in the ignition, and the Barracuda snarls to life.

"Alright, now, just get her into first," Rey tells him.

He stomps on the clutch, and braces himself for the awkward business of trying to figure out the friction point without stalling before he’s even got it in gear. Then her hand’s on his again — and he almost gasps from the stripped-nerve intensity of Rey’s fingers threading through his.

“Don’t overthink it, Ben. Just drive.”

Does he shove the shifter foward or does she? It doesn’t matter, he just doesn’t want her to let him go.

To Ben’s astonishment he manages to get the ‘Cuda into first without it even shaking too badly, then the second. Every time she moves to draw back he tightens his grip and she’s there again.

“Listen.”

He steals a glimpse of Rey’s face. Her eyes are nearly closed in rapture, head cocked as she tunes into the same wavelength as the engine. 

“She’ll tell you when to move.”

Rey’s right. When the engine hits a certain pitch his chest tightens in response — and he locks into third gear without a hitch. But when he’s congratulating himself for finally getting the Barracuda into fourth without popping the clutch, she slips away from him.

She smiles, and maybe it’s just him projecting but she looks a little sad, too. “See? I knew you had it in you.”

* * *

Ben spends the entire afternoon trying to bump into Rey.

The garage has a shop and a kitchenette, so there’s no real reason for her to come back into the house — but every creak from the kitchen sees him manufacturing another excuse to abandon his study materials.

A glass of water. Getting the mail. Using the bathroom. No, not the one downstairs, for whatever reason — he doesn’t even thought of an excuse for _that_ part.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. No one’s watching.

That gives him more time to consider Rey, turning her over and over in his mind like a rare and precious creature that’s suddenly hopped in his lap.

Why him? It’s unfathomable. If she’s hanging around Anchorhead with what Han considers to be the wrong crowd, then she’s certainly not short of the kind of company that could get her laid. Presumably those sorts of men would have experience. More experience than a pasty virgin living in his dad’s basement, anyway.

So if not by default, then … what?

Is it the risk that’s turning her on, or is she just teasing him — or both?

Heavy boots clump overhead around four-thirty, and Han’s and Chewie’s voices bleed through the floor. Too late, then; unless they hold poker game out in the shop, there’s no way to contrive to run into her alone. Not without Han making a big, awkward deal out of things.

The longer his frustration simmers in his chest, the more Ben realizes it’s a good thing he hasn’t been able to find time alone with Rey. The easy way her fingers had molded around his, as though they belonged there… It had only been the impossible physics of the situation (and the need to keep her safe — the defensive thought, he discovers, as natural to him as drawing breath) that had stopped him from from seeking more from her.

That vibrant feeling, as though Rey is the first _real_ person Ben has ever met in his life, and everyone else mere simulacra … He can’t parse the feeling, he can’t explain it, it simply _is_.

And that means he can’t trust himself around her. So much for a quiet summer.

* * *

Ben knows the moment his uncle’s arrived because the volume in the house immediately jumps about eighty decibels, reaching him even through his headphones. The Uncle Lando of his childhood memories is a shining presence, a beacon of warmth — and Ben reluctantly extracts himself from his facade of studying.

“Ben!” He’s hardly emerged from the basement doorway before the older man seizes him in a bear hug. Save for the grey hair and thickening build that betray Lando’s age, he hardly seems to have changed at all. “How ya doin’, little buddy?”

“Hardly _little_ anymore,” Han offers wryly from across the kitchen.

“Nah, he’ll always be my little copilot.”

Ben grimaces, holding himself rigor-stiff as Lando tousles his hair. “Hi Uncle Lando.”

The trio of older men growl knowingly.

“Come on, ya gotta say it,” Han teases.

Ben shivers as his gaze finds Rey. She’s sitting at the kitchen table beside Chewie, watching him with a glint of amusement.

His stomach flips. _No_ … not like this.

Lando slings his arm around Ben’s shoulders. “Go on, kid.”

A scorching blush creeps over his skin; there’s no escape, and everyone’s staring at him waiting to hear the mortifying words.

“Hi Unca Wanwo,” Ben mutters.

The three men burst into whooping laughter. Ben wishes the ground would open up and swallow him.

“Soon as I heard you were comin’ home, I told your dad I had to hear that,” Lando chortles, and finally — mercifully — releases him. He draws a pack of cards from his pocket and waves it under Ben’s nose. “Finally ready for me to deal you in?”

Ben smiles tightly. “Not tonight.”

“Oh, come on — it’s a fresh deck and everything.” He taps the cards to show the plastic wrapping. “No tricks.”

“Lay off him, Lando,” Han warns. “Besides, you probably shrink-wrapped that in your basement.”

Lando spreads his arms, the picture of innocence. “Han, Han … would I do that to you?”

Chewie chuffs with laughter as Han stabs an accusing forefinger in Lando’s direction. “Summer of ‘97. I wasn’t born yesterday, pal.”

“Okay, okay…”

Han’s crochety expression softens as he looks at Ben. “What d’ya say, kid?”

He wants to look at Rey, see if she’s watching him — but the impulse sends a pang of warning through his gut. Instead he jerks his thumb toward the basement stairs. “I’m gonna watch a movie, just wanted to come up and say hey.”

“All right, guess we can’t twist your arm. Guess I’ll just have to take more money off your dad.” Lando eyes sparkle with mirth. “Or maybe the pink slip to that Barracuda I saw out front.”

“No,” Han says sharply before turning glancing to Ben. “Get outta here while ya still can.”

He’s almost back through the door to his sactuary when his father says his name. When he looks back, Han nods toward Rey. “Take this one with you, willya?”

“Hey!” Rey protests.

“Gotta be twenty-one to play, kid.”

“That didn’t matter before!”

“C’mon, Han,” Lando says with that Calrissian charm. “At least give me a chance to win my money back.”

Win _his_ money back? Ben can’t help but look at Rey, but she’s too busy gaping at Han. “But—”

“No _but_ s, kid, your mom’s still letting me have it over last time.”

Rey folds her arms like a petulant teen. “So you’re only going to let me sit here and _watch?_ ”

“You can watch us or you can watch a movie with your brother.”

“ _Step_ brother,” Ben snaps — only to realize Rey’s said it, too. Her hazel eyes flash with the same instinctive fury that’s corroding a hole in his chest before he forces himself to look away.

Chewie and Lando practically crack a rib laughing.

“Laugh it up, Fuzzball,” Han grouses at Chewie.

Lando shrugs off Han’s ornery tone. “At least they agree on _something_.”

Ben mumbles a parting and heads back downstairs, heart pounding with such sickening force that he barely hears the men’s replies.

He certainly doesn’t hear the footsteps tracing him like Eurydice. Not until he reaches the bottom of the stairs and turns around to see Rey peering up at him — at which point his heart pretty much stops altogether.

Rey grins, her nose wrinkling adorably. “Hi.”

Ben glances up at the door at the top of the stairs, trying to remember how to breathe. She left it ajar, and he pitches his voice low so the trio of men upstairs don’t hear him. “I was serious. About watching a movie, I mean.”

“I know.”

“And if I close the door my dad will get suspicious.”

Rey shrugs and turns, meandering toward his bed like a cat. “That’s why I left the door like I did.”

“Don’t get grease on my blankets,” Ben says quickly.

He only meant for her to sit somewhere else, maybe his computer chair, but she gives him that wicked smile and her hands move to the throat of her coveralls.

Shit.

Ben turns back to check the door again. It’s hard to think straight with that catlike gaze of Rey’s locked on him, and he takes the opportunity to turn on the dust television and rummage for a DVD. Han’s proximity makes him uneasy, and the TV’s subwoofers are far superior to his laptop’s puny speakers. “ _Hunt for Red October_ okay?”

“Your room, your movie,” comes the pert reply from behind him.

By the time he turns back the blue _Solo’s Garage_ coveralls are in a heap near the foot of the stairs and Rey is slouched comfortably against his pillows. Ben’s mouth goes desert-dry; she’s wearing another pair of the denim cutoffs she seems to favor and a white tee that’s so thin he can see the shape of her bra even from across the room.

“How’s this?” Rey asks sweetly.

Ben’s jaw is clenched so tightly he can feel his teeth squeak, and he forces himself to relax as Rey smirks at him. She _likes_ this, seeing him so affected … but two can play at that game. “It’s fine.”

The confidence in Rey’s gaze fades as he nudges the computer chair out of the way and moves to the side of the bed, looming over her.

“Budge up.”

Shock is beautiful on her, like everything else, but she scoots out of the way easily enough. The bedsprings creak in protest of two bodies as he sits, and even though he’s staring at the opening credits as they roll, he can hardly see them. All his energy is devoted to keeping tabs on Rey in his peripheral vision.

God, he feels like a fucking giant next to her. Her legs are fully stretched out, yet still her feet only reach as far as his mid-shin. Her hands are folded in her lap, but he could probably cage both of them in one of his. Ben always associated the aromas of grease and motor oil with his father — but now, commingled with the soft, sweet scent of a woman (is she wearing some kind of girl-smelling shampoo?), they’re intoxicating.

For a while she just sits with him in silence, watching the movie. Every so often a burst of laughter sounds dully around the cracked door, and Rey’s chin tilts like she’s looking up at the ceiling, but Ben doesn’t dare check.

None of his degrees are helping him figure out what she wants — or why she’s down here.

What’s he supposed to do?

Right about the time Jack Ryan is theorizing that Ramius is defecting, Rey gives a breathy sigh. The bed moves with her, and her bare soles trace strange designs on his comforter as she readjusts.

Ben finally gets up the nerve to look at Rey, baffled as her lips curve in a coy smile. “What?”

“I was just thinking about how it felt touching your hand this afternoon.” Her voice is low, throaty, the words meant not for anyone but him. Ben struggles to quash the idea of what other sounds she might make under more pleasurable circumstances. “We never touch, have you noticed?”

“Why would we?” he asks automatically.

“We _could_. If we wanted to. If we found a reason.”

Her interlaced fingers unknot, and she rests her right hand on the bed between them. There’s a scant foot and a half separating their bodies — less now that she’s reached out like this — and though his pulse quickens to a gallop, he doesn’t catch her fingers within his own. A terrible idea has taken root in his mind, and he’s not sure he can shake it, even with his father almost directly overhead.

Instead Ben inclines his head to indicate the sliver of light at the top of the stairs. “Anyone could walk in.”

Rey quirks one eyebrow. “So?”

“Why me? I’m the last person on earth you should want.”

Uncertainty flickers in her expression like torchlight; his question has set her back on her heels. Her fingers tighten on his bedspread, as though she’s thinking about drawing her hand back into her lap. “I told you … I’ve a-always imagined—”

He narrows his eyes at her, concealing his delight at watching her squirm. “What did you do when you were imagining?”

Her perfect coral lips part, but she only watches him in silence, searching his face to see if he’s joking, perhaps. Or maybe she’s tongue-tied. 

“Show me,” he orders.

The consternation is swept off her face like the tide after a hurricane, leaving only that same sparkling excitement he saw on her this morning. Now she _does_ pull her hand away, surrendering the no man’s land between their bodies in favor of the button holding her denim shorts shut.

“Turn forward.”

Rey’s mouth tightens — hiding a smile? He can only hope — but she obeys, training her gaze on the TV. The bed groans quietly as she lifts her hips a few inches to unbutton her shorts, and she drags her zipper down with a faint sigh before sinking back on the comforter.

Her dark irises move to the corner of her eyes near Ben, and he clicks his tongue. She giggles nervously, but looks ahead again, sending a rush of something new and nameless through his stomach.

Fuck, she really _does_ like this.

Rey tugs her shirt up a little, and for the first time he sees the pink V of her panties nestled between the splayed zipper. She bites her lower lip and slips her left hand under the lace-edged waistband. He knows she’s found herself when a soft cry tears itself from her lips, and her fingers begin work her sex beneath the thin cotton.

Ben’s seen women playing with themselves in porn, but it’s that’s worlds away from this. He can feel every slight vibration or twist of her hips thrumming through the bedsprings, hear her gentle breaths growing sharper and shallower as she quickens.

His cock responds to her soft sounds, too, a familiar symphony of sensations drawing his awareness down to his groin as he hardens. He bends his knees to hide his swelling erection, glancing at the ajar door as raucous laughter cascades through the floorboards. But it’s just his father and the guys — and another thrill of fear runs through him at the possibility of discovery.

Rey doesn’t even seem to notice the disturbance. Her lovely almond eyes are half-lidded, and a pink glow gathers in her cheeks as she touches herself.

And it’s all for him.

“I wish I could feel you,” she murmurs, her body moving against his mattress in a sinuous wave.

It’s like she’s drawn the words from his mind; his phallus is crushed against the inside of his jeans, demanding to be free, and running his hand over the burgeoning bulge only inflames him more.

“I bet you do,” Ben growls.

Rey gasps quietly at that — and he’s so charmed that he doesn’t even upbraid her for turning her face to his. Her eyes are hectic with gathering ecstasy, and her gaze drops lower as he pops the button of his own jeans.

The way his knees are drawn up he should be shielded from the cracked door even if someone _does_ come to check on them — and Ben unzips his pants and shoves his boxer briefs down far enough to negotiate his stiff prick free.

A soft moan escapes Rey’s throat as she stares at his erect member. She strains against her own fingers even more furiously now that he’s bared himself to her, and Ben lets his fingers play along his length. “Is this what you’re thinking about?”

She nods.

“You want my cock?”

“I want you, Ben,” Rey whispers. Her hungry gaze meets his with such force that his lips tingle with the overwhelming urge to kiss her … but he can’t. Not yet.

He strokes himself, savoring the way she bites her lower lip again as she watches him. She must be drenched; he can hear the wet, welcoming sounds of her pussy as she caresses herself, rocking with a slow, steady rhythm.

Ben easily matches her tempo, and the mattress moves beneath them like they’re fucking, their bodies and breaths mirroring each other. She’s mere inches away from him, so near that her scent washes over him in a delicious wave. 

He can easily imagine that it’s not his own hand he’s fucking but her, burying his thick length inside her up to the hilt. Precum beads on the head of his shaft, and he massages it into his rigid length, imagining it’s not his own sap but hers.

“You’re not even going to touch me?” Rey whimpers, letting her free hand resettle between them. “Not even to take my hand?”

All the self-control he’s mustered in the last few years threatens to crack at the soft sound of her voice. He’s never craved anything like this before, primal and snarling and refusing to be quenched save by Rey.

That’s what she wants from him, he suspects; not shy, introverted Ben, but the forbidding man she’s been fantasizing about.

But the door... 

He has to keep control. 

“If you’ve got a free hand you should be using it on yourself,” Ben says coldly. “Pull your shirt up.”

Rey whines, but her eyes flare with wanting as she obeys, ducking under the neck of her shirt as she loops the hem to bare her bra. The hand that isn’t shoved down her shorts moves to the simple garment, and she lets her fingertips play along the edge where it meets her naked skin.

The space between them is electric with longing. Ben can feel it pulsing like a living thing, and he wants to shatter both it and Rey. Maybe it’s a mercy he doesn’t have a condom, otherwise he might succumb to his baser instincts and wreck her the way she seems to want.

He doesn’t need to wrap it up to tease Rey, though.

“What would you do if I just pulled you under me and fucked you right now?” he rasps as he palms himself. Shit, if he keeps going like this, he’s going to explode all over himself again. “I’d put one hand on your mouth to keep her from screaming … is that what you want?”

Rey’s guttural groan is answer enough.

He chuckles and resettles himself in the bed to give her a better view of his fully aroused cock. “You think you could handle all this?”

“I want to,” she breathes. Her beautiful eyes are trained on his sex, and as he watches, her toes curl into his blankets. She must be close — and the thought that it’s _him_ , quiet, virgin Ben Solo, who’s affecting her like this sends a fresh surge of longing through his nerves.

She’s near to losing herself in bliss, but he won’t let her go. Not yet.

He laughs condescendingly. “You couldn’t. You can’t even handle yourself right now.”

“Please...” Rey pants, rolling her hips against her hand as she tugs the bra down to bare her breasts. _Fuck_ she’s gorgeous. “Say my name.”

He’s so close to the brink himself that his voice comes out as a harsh rumble: “Beg me.”

“Please…”

“More.”

“Please,” she pleads, her voice strained with rapture. “Please, please, Ben…”

“Rey,” he groans.

“Oh Ben … I’m—”

Her words dissolve into a strangled _ahhh_ as she writhes violently in the throes of her orgasm — and seeing her so overcome nudges him over the edge, too. His molten load spurts out to cover his hand, and he can feel Rey’s warmth beside him as he strokes himself until he’s euphoric and empty.

A chair scrapes overhead, and heavy footsteps trace a line towards the top of the stairs.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Rey hisses, instantly alert with panic. She flips her shirt down and retrieves her other hand from her panties, buttoning her shorts and tossing a pillow at Ben before he can move. “Just cover up!”

By the time the door swings open to frame Han’s silhouette, Rey is halfway to the bathroom, safely away from the bed. “Everything okay down there?”

“It’s fine, Dad.”

“Thought I heard you yelling for Rey.”

“I stubbed my toe,” Rey volunteers, hobbling toward the bathroom so convincingly that for a few thumping heartbeats Ben isn’t sure she’s faking it.

“Alright, well … let me know if anyone loses a limb,” Han offers. “And no Fight Club shit, even if you don’t like each other that much.”

“Sure, Dad.”

Han moves out of sight, and Ben double-checks the pillow placement as his father’s footsteps move safely away. From Han’s position he shouldn’t have seen anything out of the ordinary; it was clever of Rey to think of that solution so quickly.

The bathroom door closes before Ben even realizes Rey’s disappeared, and he takes the opportunity to clean up. The front of his shirt is smeared with cum, and he exchanges it for a clean one before Rey reemerges.

She gives him a little smile as she scoops up her discarded coveralls. “I should probably go.”

“Okay.”

Rey trots up the stairs and is lost to the kitchen before Ben can stop his head from spinning. She came for him, and he didn’t even have to touch her.

He’s at war with himself. Half of him is fiercely proud of his restraint. The other half is desperate to know what’ll happen when that iron restraint inexorably crumbles.

And underneath it all, the taboo that she’s his stepsister. Han would probably disown him for corrupting Rey if he knew what they just did. Qi’ra would probably kill him,

That night Ben sleeps on top of the blankets rather than under them. Rey’s scent lingers on his comforter, and it feels strangely wrong to disturb that, as though in so doing he could lose Rey herself. Instead he nuzzles into the blankets, wishing as he drifts to sleep that he could’ve known what to say to make her stay with him even a few minutes longer.


	4. Anchorhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly Rey wishes she’d paid more attention in math. If Ben’s heading towards her and Rose at his usual lanky pace, and the light’s about to turn green, how fast do they have to walk to meet Finn and Poe and get inside Unkar’s before Ben passes the near corner of the building?
> 
> She doesn’t have to be a genius to know the answer is _not fast enough_. 
> 
> “Shit.”
> 
> “What d’you wanna do?” Rose asks quietly as the light turns and they start walking again.
> 
> It feels like an entire belfry’s-worth of bats are flapping around in Rey’s stomach. “Fuck all if I know.”
> 
> “Finn’s gonna lose his shit if he sees you drooling over another dude, and if that dude is _Ben_ -”
> 
> “I am not drooling over Ben!” Rey hisses.
> 
> “Girl, _please,_ ” Rose snorts. “You’re like, fifty shades of pink already.”
> 
> “Are you gonna help or just make fun of me?”
> 
> Her petite friend shrugs. “I dunno, mocking you is more fun…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey wants Ben, but she doesn't know what move to make next.
> 
> Fortunately for both of them, Ben has a dirty plan of his own, and he's not afraid to use it 😏💞
> 
> More new stuff:  
> \+ [Craving Kylo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951468/chapters/34645847) \-- Chapter 8 is live! BDSM aftercare is both cute & sexy when your Dom is tech titan Kylo Ren.  
> \+ [Breaking Rey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15129119/chapters/35081435) \-- I *finally* compiled this into a chaptered work, and Chapter 4 is up! See the story from Kylo's perspective as he falls for spunky submissive Rey.
> 
> Next due for an update is Craving Kylo, but I'm also contributing to the Reylo Charity Anthology Vol. 2 along with some amazing humans! Get your copy by making a donation to one of four amazing charities - [find out more here!](https://twitter.com/reylocharity)

Rey is obsessed with her stepbrother's hands.

They're massive, slim and elegant like the rest of him, and capable of so much. They can be unexpectedly tender, like when he coaxes the neighborhood cat into the garage and wipes its dusty fur clean. They can be powerful, like when he wrests the top off a reluctant pickle jar, popping the ornery lid like it’s nothing. 

But the way she loves thinking about his hands best is remembering how they looked wrapped around his cock. The way they skimmed over his sensitive, aroused skin with practiced ease, urging himself along as his ravenous black eyes raged for her… 

Rey wonders how those hands would feel on her body, claiming all the places he’s not supposed to touch.

She’s trembling by the time she summits the top of the stairs and collapses into her bedroom, not even bothering to shut her door quietly. That was so fucking  _ hot _ getting off beside him — and that cold, arrogant way he’d spoken to her, making her show herself off to him and touch herself for his pleasure… 

Rey could practically melt.

Instead she flops facedown on her bed, burying her face in her pillows to hide the undignified squeals.

“Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ ,” she giggles, unable to believe her good luck. The long-ago Goth phase had been a decent indicator that Ben might have a wild side, but for her to have found it so quickly this summer is simply unreal.

And yet…

Rey rolls on her back, gnawing her lower lip as she replays the encounter in her mind. Ben could’ve taken her anytime by now, but he’s not pushing anything, even with her almost literally flinging herself at him.

Then again, he’s not pushing her away, either.

He’s comfortable enough exposing himself to her — and Rey bites her lower lip hard enough to draw blood as the memory of his rigid, pulsing length obliterates everything else in her mind.

Could she  _ really  _ take that much inside her?

Goddamn, she wants to try.

Ben’s going to need encouragement, though; she can’t just creep into his bed naked and hope for the best. He might spook and tell Han — or worse, Qi’ra.

How and when — and to whom — Rey loses her virginity is no one’s business but her own. She could get it over and done with, but there’s no fun in that. Ben might take some coaxing, but he’s worth it. She has no doubt of that.

The thought of his weight pressing her down into her mattress, his stony phallus nudging into her silken folds and thrusting deep in her cunt until he’s bottoming out inside her…

It’s too much.

She’s still sore and tender from the force of cumming beside him, shuddering with the force of her orgasm as mere inches separated their bodies … but the need doesn’t care.

Rey unbuttons her shorts and drives her hand down into her panties, sighing as she finds herself with her fingers.

“Ben,” she groans quietly — and in that moment she realizes what it is that she that she wants from her stepbrother next.

* * *

The house is quiet when Rey trots downstairs the next morning, her leather boots clunking a hollow tattoo on the steps. Han’s out in the garage puttering, she can hear him carping at Chewie from here in the kitchen.

She’s tempted to creep over to the door down to the basement and try to figure out if Ben’s still sleeping — but that’s a risky move, even for her. Between her heavy boots and her reinforced pants, she’s not equipped for stealth at the moment. What she’s thinking of can wait.

Besides, she’s got a date.

Rey doesn’t take the Interceptor out very often, but a Saturday morning ride into Anchorhead sounds pretty perfect. Not as perfect as if Ben was sitting behind her, of course, those long, muscular arms wrapped around her waist … but he’s still asleep. Or she can safely assume he is, since the Barracuda is still slumbering in the pool of shadows in front of the house.

She pats one of the muscle car’s glossy black fenders as she passes. Poor thing’s going to have to deal with a bit of abuse breaking Ben in, if their mutual driving lesson at the airstrip had been any indication.

Mutual. Masturbation. Ben’s cock.

_ Fuck _ .

“Oh shut up,” Rey growls as her pussy shivers with ravenous need. She may not be able to be able to wrap her thighs around what she  _ really _ wants this morning, but a few hundred pounds of vintage chrome and steel isn’t a half-bad substitute.

* * *

Rose is waiting just outside Tosche Station by the time Rey pulls into sight. The nightclub is closed, of course, an ungainly retrofuturist lump in daylight hours — but once night falls and the day’s veil of dust burns away, it’ll be a phantasmagoric palace.

In the meantime, the gated lot is the perfect place to stash the Interceptor. She walks the bike through the bollarded end of the cracked asphalt lake and props it up on its kickstand in the shadows, stashing her jacket and helmt nearby. Kaydel is planted in the cracked plastic lawn chair at the corner of the building, looking irritated as hell — but she’s still paying her dues. Daytime lookout duty goes with the territory, if she ever hopes to get that promotion to runner.

Kaydel throws Rey a listless nod as she passes. That’s the other reason to park here: the extra set of eyes. No one would dare fucking with the Resistance just to jack her ride and her gear, even if Rey isn’t an official member.

“ _ Reyyyyy! _ ”

Rose throws her arms around Rey’s neck as soon as she clears the corner of the Station. By rights Rey should be able to rest her chin on her best friend’s head, but today they’re nearly eye to eye — and as they break apart, Rey squints down at Rose’s strappy wedges. “Careful, you’re going to give yourself a nosebleed on those stilts.”

Rose sniffs haughtily as she loops her arm through Rey’s and they start off. “Maybe if I saw you more than once in the last five days, I wouldn’t feel compelled to jack myself up like one of your dad’s cars just to get your attention!”

“ _ Step _ dad’s,” Rey mutters.

“Ben’s back home, huh?”

Rey looks askance at her. “How the fuck could you know  _ that? _ ”

“You disappear for a few days and then call me out for referring to Han as your dad?” Rose snorts with laughter. “Yeah, he’s back.”

“Han  _ is _ my stepdad!”

“Mm, but you only get hung up on that technicality when Ben’s around. And it’s been a while.”

Rey can feel Rose smirking at her for a few paces before she rolls her eyes, conceding. “Fine. So what?”

“ _ So? _ ” A high-pitched squeal rips out of Rose’s nose, and she digs a sharp elbow into Rey’s ribs. “D’you think you’re gonna —  _ you _ know-?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Rey giggles, squirming to evade her friend’s tickle attack.

“Rey,  _ come on _ , I’m not a prude like your mom. You guys are both old enough now, it’s not weird.”

Rose is relentless when she’s scented a secret, and her fingers crawl along Rey’s sides like mechanical spiders, exploiting her ticklish areas. In no time she has Rey pinned up against the window of a vacant shop, bent double and wheezing beneath the  _ For Lease _ sign.

“Tell meeeee!”

A single word tumbles out amid the cascade of giggles, and Rose halts her onslaught long enough to cock her head.

“What was that?”

“I said  _ maybe _ ,” Rey allows hoarsely.

“Hmph.” Rose is clearly unimpressed, but she withdraws, letting Rey recover herself as they continue on. “Well this explains the sudden hot tub obsession.”

“I bought that hunk of junk long before I knew Ben was coming.”

“Liar,” Rose says cheerily — and a traitorous blush burns Rey’s cheeks. “I still don’t think you’ll have it working by Independence Day, though.”

“Oh ye of little faith. Now that the ‘Cuda’s done I’ll actually have time to work on it.”

“Yeah, if you’re not busy  _ working on _ something else.”

Rey rolls her eyes, refusing to take the bait.

* * *

The guys are already waiting outside Unkar’s Outfitters, lurking at the bus stop bench. Rey can tell exactly when Finn sees them because he leaps to his feet — and she bites her lower lip to stifle a groan.

“Aww, your boyfriend’s so cute,” Rose mock-gushes.

“Not funny, dude.”

“It’s a  _ little _ funny. Like, in a cosmic sort of way.”

Rey shakes her head, weary of the drama Finn’s sucking her into. She’s got enough problems of her own to worry about, most of them named  _ Ben _ . “I wish he’d just let it go.”

“Y’know Poe has a crush on him, too?”

It makes sense now that Rey thinks about it. The other boy — well,  _ man _ , really — has let Finn hang onto that old bomber jacket so long that Rey thinks of it as Finn’s more than Poe’s. “Oof. What do you two even see in him?”

“What do  _ you _ see in Ben?”

Rey and Rose stop at the end of the crosswalk a block away from the shop, waiting for the light to turn. The guys are engrossed in conversation, but Finn’s head turns toward them every few seconds, as though worried he’ll lose sight of her on this barren street.

Well, not  _ completely  _ barren; there’s someone else approaching the set of intersections from the far end of the street, down beyond the back corner of Unkar’s. Rey’s so used to dismissing the shock of recognition when she sees the man’s outline — he hasn’t lived here for years, after all — that she’s staring at him mindlessly for at least ten seconds before she realizes it really  _ is _ Ben.

Her heart punishes her for the mistake, skipping a beat and then thudding in her chest like a punch — but Rose sees him in the next moment.

“Speak of the devil, huh?”

Suddenly Rey wishes she’d paid more attention in math. If Ben’s heading towards her and Rose at his usual lanky pace, and the light’s about to turn green, how fast do they have to walk to meet Finn and Poe and get inside Unkar’s before Ben passes the near corner of the building?

She doesn’t have to be a genius to know the answer is  _ not fast enough _ . 

“Shit.”

“What d’you wanna do?” Rose asks quietly as the light turns and they start walking again.

It feels like an entire belfry’s-worth of bats are flapping around in Rey’s stomach. “Fuck all if I know.”

“Finn’s gonna lose his shit if he sees you drooling over another dude, and if that dude is  _ Ben _ -”

“I am not drooling over Ben!” Rey hisses.

“Girl,  _ please _ ,” Rose snorts. “You’re like, fifty shades of pink already.”

“Are you gonna help or just make fun of me?”

Her petite friend shrugs. “I dunno, mocking you is more fun…”

There’s only one intersection left now separating them all from the invariable collision. Ben’s head is tilted down like he’s looking at the ground a few feet in front of him, but there’s no way he  _ can’t _ have seen them by now. Finn and Poe are oblivious to him still; they’re getting up off the bench to greet the approaching girls, putting their backs more or less squarely toward her stepbrother.

“This way.” Rey hooks a sharp left at the final intersection. There’s another crosswalk up this way that feeds out directly in front of the outfitters’ main entrance, so as long as Ben doesn’t turn at the corner, they’ll avoid each other altogether.

Finn and Poe dance along the far side of the street, following them like thwarted magnets. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Poe shouts, his unnecessarily loud voice making Rey cringe. He waves back at the crosswalk behind them. “You had the light!”

“Girl talk, give us a sec!” Rose calls back, hauling Rey closer as she drops her voice. “Holy shit, woman, this is  _ Red October _ -level tense!”

Rey doesn’t dare even glance over her shoulder. “Is he going straight?”

A few tendrils of Rose’s dark hair flip against Rey’s face as she looks back and then ahead again “Nope. Bet he’s going to Unkar’s, too.”

“Fuck.”

Maybe he’ll walk right past them without saying anything, or even making eye contact. Of course he will. Even when they were going to the same school they never interacted publicly. Why should that change now, regardless of what’s happening behind closed doors — or even ajar ones?

Rey can feel her cheeks screaming her guilt as she and Rose cross the street to meet the guys in front of the shop. Ben is looming behind them like a sexy grim reaper, but she forces herself to look only at Finn and Poe.

Finn’s eyes are bright with excitement. “Girl talk?”

“Probably chatting about those shoes.” Poe nods at Rose’s feet. “Jessica Simpson?”

Rose points one toe, showcasing the wedges like a diva. “Jimmy Choos. Thrifted ‘em the last time I was in Tahoe.”

“Good find!”

The shadow behind the guys passes through her peripheral vision and is eclipsed by Finn’s head. The iron band of tension encircling Rey’s ribs eases — he’s passed them, she’s in the clear-

Poe’s eyes suddenly dart to something over Rey’s left shoulder. “Hey! Ben, right?”

_ Fuck _ . How the hell does Poe know who he is?

Ben hesitantly turn back, his face the tight, expressionless mask he wears when he meets strangers. It’s how she’d looked when she met him.

His fathomless black eyes flick to Rey and then back to Poe. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“I recognize your picture from your dad’s shop. He talks about you a lot.”

Bringing up Han is a surefire way to make things uncomfortable — and a tendon jumps in the hollow of Ben’s temple, but he doesn’t say anything to that.

“Poe.” The tousle-haired Resistance runner sticks his hand out, and to Rey’s surprise, her dour stepbrother actually shakes it. “Dameron.”

“Ben Solo.”

“I’m Rose,” her best friend volunteers with a peppy wave. “We went to high school together, actually. And this is Finn.”

Finn looks decidedly less enthused — and he nods curtly. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

It’s so unreal to be standing this close to Ben, yet unable to acknowledge this aching fire that consumes her body as she stares at him. It feels like she’s standing on livid coals, and all she can think about is his tortured-yet-ecstatic expression as he was cumming beside her. He’s so composed now, no one could possibly know he was capable of that corruption, that sexiness.

No one but Rey.

“So what brings you to Anchorhead on this fine morning?” Poe’s asking as Rey forces herself to snap out of her daydream and back to reality.

“Just picking up something for my father.” Ben’s obsidian gaze flickers over each of her friends but not Rey. He avoids her so perfectly that it must be deliberate. “And yourselves?”

Poe gives Ben an affable smack on the shoulder. “Getting ready for the party!” 

“Poe!” she growls, but it’s too late.

“Party?”

“Rey planned to have a few of us over on the Fourth of July,” Rose interjects smoothly. Thank fuck at least  _ one _ of her friends has a modicum of finesse. “Just a little hangout to break in her new hot tub!”

“July fourth.” Ben’s eyes finally find Rey, and the breath freezes in her lungs. “The weekend my dad’s away?”

“Mmhmm,” is all Rey can manage.

“I see.”

Rose beams. “You should come!”

Rey wants to shrink into the sidewalk.

Ben looks at her again, and she jerks one shoulder up in a lopsided shrug. “Yeah. I mean, you’re gonna be there anyway, right?”

“I suppose.”

The warm, shivery feeling in Rey’s gut fades to razor blades. The thing that’s always fascinated her about Ben — the divide between his chilly surface and what lies underneath — now leaves her at a loss, wondering if he’s really this dispassionate about her. He hasn’t even pretended to smile this entire time.

Apparently Finn’s trying to usurp Ben’s sourpuss crown, though, because he scowls at her stepbrother like the taller man’s somehow crossed him. “We should get going.”

“It was nice to see you again,” Rose offers, following Finn as he turns and stalks off toward the shop’s front door.

Poe frowns, but he at least gives Ben a proper nod in parting. “See you around.”

“I’m sure.”

Poe trots off after Finn, and as he catches up Rey hears him ask none-too-subtly, “What was  _ that _ about?”

Then it’s just the two of them standing alone together, Rey silently wishing she hadn’t ridden the Interceptor today after all. Then she could’ve worn something other than her biking outfit. Maybe a short, cute skirt like Rose’s.

She jerks her thumb over her shoulder at her departing friends, reeling back a pace to follow. “I should, uh-”

Ben’s stern gaze freezes her boots to the sidewalk. “You know how my dad feels about parties.”

“Um, yeah.” Shit. Thanks to Poe’s big mouth she now has to play damage control. Rey could practically kick his ass, if that wouldn’t bring the entire Resistance down on her head. “If you could just, like,  _ not _ mention it to him, I’d really appreciate it. I’ll make sure everything’s cleaned up before he and Mum get back, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Ben echoes — and even though his voice is quiet, his eyes burn into her like twin suns.

She shifts awkwardly. “So … we’re cool?”

“Rey…”

That soft rumble in his voice as he says her name is a fresh reminder of their perversions in the basement, and she shudders with pleasure.

“Are we going to talk about this?”

“Talk about  _ what? _ ” she asks stiffly. Of any place to ask her about this, here,  _ now _ , as her friends are waiting inside for her has to be one of the worst.

He steps forward and she’s still pinned to the spot by the storm raging in his eyes. 

“You can’t just keep sneaking into my room.”

He wants her to stop.

Rey’s heart crumples.  _ Fuck. _

“I’m, um… I’m sorry,” she mutters, humiliated.

“Give me your phone.”

She’s so mortified that she doesn’t even question it, just pulls her phone from her back pocket and surrenders it to him.

He sighs in exasperation. “I can’t use it like this, you have to unlock it.”

Right. Duh.

Rey takes her phone back long enough to swipe it open — but now that she’s thinking about it… “What do you need this for?”

“Just give it to me.”

She hesitates, but his insistent gaze reclaims her.

“Rey. Give me. Your phone.”

She releases the slender plastic-and-metal brick, mind whirling dizzily. Is he going to call her father? Come clean about what little they’ve done — and throw her under the bus? Not Ben, surely. Not after what they did… 

Her stepbrother’s thumbs dance nimbly over her phone’s screen, and then he hands it back to her. “All set.”

“Rey—”

She jumps, but it’s just Rose, coming back out of the store to check on her.

“You coming?”

“In case you’re ever in an emergency or something,” Ben says, his voice loud enough to carry. No doubt that’s intentional; as Rey turns, she glimpses two familiar silhouettes ducking out of sight.

“Thanks,” she mumbles awkwardly, and turns to hurry inside before he — or anyone else — can see her biting her lower lip to hide a grin.

* * *

“Wait, you didn’t have his number already?” Rose hisses as they pick through a rack of swimsuits. Most of what they’re finding is matronly and has what her friend has termed  _ the wrong kind of ruffles, _ but they all look equally heinous to Rey, ruffles or no.

“Of course not. Why  _ would _ I?”

“Well, hate to point out the obvious, but you  _ are _ family. And don’t kill the messenger!” she adds, ducking aside as Rey brandishes a plastic hanger at her.

“The expression is  _ don’t shoot the messenger, _ Rose.”

Her friend smiles sweetly at her. “Believe me, honey, I know, I’m just covering additional bases. Yours is a violent love.”

Rey can’t help snickering at that — maybe a little  _ too  _ much, thanks to her suppressed nervousness from that run-in with Ben. 

Finn stares over at them from the men’s section. Even from here it looks like he’s glowering. “Think he knows?”

“That Ben gave you his number?” Rose says. “Yeah, he wasn’t exactly subtle about that.  _ Why _ he gave it to you? Nope. Probably doesn’t help that your dad doesn’t like Finn.”

“ _ Step _ dad.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Rey can feel Rose sneaking glances at her as they go back to pawing through the racks. “You’d better use that number. And I  _ do _ mean for something other than a flat tire.”

The bats in Rey’s belly flap with a vengeance, reawakening at the mere thought of bringing up the new entry on her contacts list. “What the fuck would I even say?”

"No idea. But he didn't give it to you just to frame and hang on the wall of your lady cave."

Rose has a decent point — and Rey slips her phone from her pocket in between rack-hunting.

There's nothing new under the  _ B _ s, so scrolls down, brows knitting painfully as she checks for anything noticeably different. She’s almost halfway through the entries when she sees it, a name that looks like deliberate gibberish.

_ Kylo Ren. _

Who else would remember the social media handle he used in high school? Certainly not Han, allergic to modern tech as he is. Definitely not Qi’ra, who had her own laptop, even back then.

Only someone who shared a computer with Ben could make the connection.

His sneakiness definitely merits a response.

**_REY: So … emergencies, huh?_ **

She’s only got her phone halfway back into her pocket when it vibrates with an incoming message.

**_KYLO: That didn’t take long._ **

Rey glances around before allowing herself a private smile. Finn’s still keeping an eye on them, but Ben’s nowhere to be seen. Surely he’s long gone by now, headed home, so there’s no reason to feel this crushing disappointment that he’s not in the immediate vicinity — yet it’s undeniable.

At least she has another way of reaching out to him now. One even Finn and all the scowling in the world can’t interrupt.

**_REY | You’re one to talk. Guessing you were sitting around waiting for me to text you?_ **

**_KYLO | I had a feeling I’d hear from you sooner rather than later_ **

She shoves the phone back in her pocket, irritated by his cockiness. Or maybe she’s just irritated to have proved him right.

“Ooh!” Rose practically dives into a rack headfirst, and emerges with an ear-to-ear grin and something that looks like a fuchsia jellyfish battling a hanger. “Bikinis!”

A few years ago the idea of anything but a fully modest one-piece would’ve made Rey squirm with terror, but things have changed.  _ She’s _ changed.

And right now, maybe  _ getting _ changed is the best favor she can do for herself.

She wades into the rack and digs out a couple of tops in her size, one black with white polka dots, the other the inverse. She probably won’t buy either of them, but that’s not the point.

Rey swings the bikinis over her shoulder like an old-timey movie star. “Think I’m gonna go put on a little fashion show.”

“Ooh, for  _ whom? _ ” Rose giggles.

Rey grins saucily.

By the time she’s locked herself in a fitting room there’s another message waiting.

**_KYLO | How’s the shopping going?_ **

Perfect — she doesn’t even need to come up with a pretext now.

Rey strips out of her t-shirt and bra and pulls on the white bikini, then takes a few selfies, mentally patting herself on the back for finding a changing room with a majority of working lights. Some of the bulbs in this place have been broken as long as she’s been coming here.

Most of the photos are crap, but two are promising, and Rey chooses one to send Ben, along with the caption:

**_REY | You tell me_ ** 🙃

Her fingers are trembling as she stabs the  _ send _ button, and then she tosses the phone facedown on top of her clothes. All the better to not be tempted while she changes into the black bikini top.

Then she  _ has _ to pick up the phone to take more pictures for Ben. There’s no response yet, but maybe he’s driving or something. The last thing they need is for him to wrap himself around a tree, particularly if he's got compromising pics of Rey up on his phone as he does it.

She takes the opportunity to snap a selfie in the black bikini top and send it after the first.

**_KYLO | Damn. Very well, I'd say_ **

Not driving then — or hopefully not. Rey’s grin becomes practically Grinchlike as she taps a reply.

**_REY | Which one's better?_ **

**_KYLO | Let me think about that_ **

Rey glowers at her phone; that's not exactly the response she's looking for.

_ Think _ about it?

She presses her lips, regarding her reflection. Clearly more drastic measures are required — and nervous giggles bubble up inside her as she sheds the black bikini top like a second skin.

It’s always weird being half-naked in Unkar’s Outfitters. It’s even weirder holding a camera as opposed to  _ looking _ for one hidden amid the broken ceiling tiles.

It takes a few minutes to position herself the way she wants, so that her breasts are coyly shielded behind one arm and her chin is lifted regally as an ancient queen. This time she doesn't even bother to send a caption. Her eyebrow, quirked in challenge in the picture, is enough.

Then she waits — and this time she doesn't have to wait long.

**_KYLO: This is going to be a stupid cliche, but you're fucking hot, Rey_ **

She blushes to the roots of her hair.

Now  _ that's _ more like it.

She wraps her free arm around her torso, suddenly self-conscious as she swipes out a reply.

**_REY: That coming from *you*_ ** 😏

She sees herself in the mirror and forces herself to straighten and face her reflection. She used to feel so disconnected from her body, but the tattoo and the Tumblr helped with that.

Regardless of what Ben or anyone else thinks, Rey has to claim herself — and she takes in the sight of her squared shoulders, her wiry frame and the vivacious curves of her breasts. It's not a bad body to live in.

Getting to break it in with Ben would make it perfection.

**_KYLO | I’m incredibly turned on right now from those pictures. Especially the last one._ **

Heat pools low in Rey’s belly like liquid fire, spreading through her sex and setting it alight. Frissons of anticipation lance through her thighs and arse; she crosses her legs, but it only intensifies the sensations.

The thought of Ben being turned on by the sight of her, of him no longer being consigned to touching himself but properly fucking her, penetrating her and filling her and groaning into her skin as he quickens… 

She ignores her body’s clamoring long enough to type out a reply.

**_REY | Wish I could help you with that_ **

**_KYLO | You can_ **

Rey hears herself gasp. Whatever Ben’s been up to this morning, it’s making him feisty … and she loves it.

Clearly her pussy loves it, too, because she can feel a drenched tarn forming in her panties every time she shifts her hips.

**_REY_ ** **|** **_?_ **

**_KYLO_ ** **|** **_I think you should do what you did the other night_ **

**_REY | Umm, bust in on you somewhere?_ **

**_KYLO | Touch yourself_ **

Rey looks around in disbelief. She can sit down on the tiny bench provided, but the changing stall door terminates a foot above the ground. The odds of getting caught probably aren’t great, but it’s certainly possible.

**_REY | Here?_ **

**_KYLO | You’re in a changing room, no?_ **

**_REY | Last time I checked…_ **

**_KYLO | Then you have privacy. Get off, film yourself doing it, and send me the vid_ **

Her immediate impulse is to be outraged, but then the instinct is drowned by a fiery rush of longing.

Ben  _ wants _ her. He’s thinking about sitting in his bed the other night getting off together, just as she is.

“Shit,” Rey breathes.

Her phone buzzes again.

**_KYLO | Make sure to take your pants off_ **

**_KYLO | and I *do* mean all the way_ **

Rey glares playfully at her phone. She could refuse, of course, tell him it’s too much of a hassle … but where’s the fun in that?

**_REY | Anything else?_ **

**_KYLO | I don’t want you to get dressed again until I say so. Understand?_ **

A snort of self-conscious laughter burbles out of Rey as she types the three letters and presses send.

**_REY_ ** **|** **_Yes_ **

She kicks off her boots and unzips her fly, but it isn’t until the reinforced pants join her discarded t-shirt and bra that she feels vulnerable. It’s not like this is her first time in a changing room wearing only her panties and socks, but she’s usually got other clothes to try on. She’s never been just hanging around like this.

And she’s  _ definitely _ never done this next part.

With a final, breathless glance at the yawning chasm between the changing room door and the floor, Rey sits and swipes her phone awake. Once the camera’s rolling she starts with panning from her knees to her face, showing off everything Ben could hope to look at if he was still here, from her maroon panties to a cheeky if somewhat shaky grin.

It’s awkward holding her phone far enough away from her body to catch everything that’s happening as she slides one hand down under her elastic waistband. She’s  _ soaked _ — and even though it feels dirty as fuck (or maybe because of it) she pulls her hand back out of her underwear long enough to showcase the trail of clear, sticky fluid that spools out between her index and middle fingers.

"This is for you," she murmurs to the camera before slipping her free hand back inside her panties.

Rey clamps her lips together so no sound can escape as someone bangs into the changing stall next to hers, but a faint whimper escapes her as she finds herself. Her folds are slick with her own essence, and hollow welcomes her drenched fingers as she thumbs her clit and hooks her fingers into her channel.

"Ben," she murmurs, trying to muffle the wet sounds of her fingering herself with her quaking thighs.

Oblivion's edge is beginning to rise in her belly, making her muscles tense like flexing bowstrings, when a sudden knocking on the stall door makes her jump.

"Rey, you in there?"

"Rose?" Her voice is strangled, incriminating, and she glances between the phone camera and stall door, on the verge of hysterical giggles. Rose's strappy wedges are  _ right there _ in the gap, and Rey jams her face into her elbow to keep from howling with laughter.

This so _ would _ happen … though at least it isn't Unkar trying to bust in on her. At least Rose will find this amusing as hell when she tells her about it later.

"Yeah, honey — how’s the fashion show going?"

"Surprisingly well," Rey manages. There's no point in trying to stop recording the vid for Ben — and she twists the phone to show what's happening so he'll know how close she is to getting caught.

"Oh em gee, I can’t wait to hear all about it! Need me to grab you anything else?"

Rose is so sweet, it's almost mean to say the next thing that pops into her head, but Rey knows her friend will be proud of her as she stares into the camera and says, "It’s okay, I'll be coming in just a minute."

Hell fucking  _ yes _ .

"Okay, see you in a bit," Rose calls, and the pair of wedges in the door gap trot out of sight.

Rey breathes a sigh of relief, but she's got work to do. Her body is wire-taut after the close call, and less than sixty seconds later she cums fast and hard, the edge of the little bench biting into the backs of her thighs as she shudders around her own fingers.

"Ben," Rey breathes as she falls apart.

She's not sure why she blows an air-kiss after she composes herself and before ending the recording, but then it's too late. As she's debating whether to scroll through the vid and trim the last few seconds of footage, her phone shivers in her hand.

**_KYLO | I'm waiting_ **

Nope, no time to spare.

Rey sends him the file … and then it’s her turn to wait, nipples hardening painfully at the stale, chilly air.

The response comes as she's about to pull her clothes back on and head out to find Rose and the guys, Ben's texted command to stay undressed notwithstanding.

**_KYLO | Take off your panties and hold them under the door_ **

Rey starts as the changing room shakes with the force of her neighbor leaving; until this moment she'd forgotten anyone was in there with her. Hopefully the other person didn't hear her.

The thought gives her pause.

**_REY | Someone's gonna notice_ **

**_KYLO | They won't if you hurry_ **

" _ Fuck! _ " Rey hisses, and scrambles out of her simple maroon panties, cursing and giggling to herself as she beholds the state of them.

The hammock of reinforced cotton that was between her thighs is hopelessly drenched, the fabric almost black from her wetness. A filthy impulse comes her to swipe the driest part of the rectangle against her quim again, and it emerges even more sodden.

The gap beneath the door leers at her, and before Rey can chicken out, she balls up the cotton in one hand and shoves it down, holding it in the open space.

Her pulse whispers a nervous chant through her ears. 

Anyone walking by can see her doing this. Anyone, anyone at all could find out what a deviant she is… 

Rey sees the shadow before she hears the footsteps — and a moment later the wrecked panties are gone, ripped from her fingers by someone on the far side.

She reels backward and drags on her own bra, t-shirt, and motorcycle pants. When she's done, the message indicator light on her phone is flashing green.

Her fingers tremble as she unlocks the phone to find a photo of wadded-up maroon cloth caged in a familiar, elegant hand. She’d know his fingers anywhere.

**_KYLO | Thanks, sexy. See you around_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElegyGoldsmith), still b*tching about TROS. Yup.
> 
> Throw me a comment if you liked the chapter! Loving harassment for new chapters is one of the best ways to keep me on track, haha.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> xoxo,  
> Elegy


	5. Semper Ubi Sub Ubi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Open your knees.”
> 
> Rey’s coral lips part, and a scarlet blush scorches her cheeks, but then she clamps her mouth shut again and raises her nose haughtily.
> 
> “Open. Them.”
> 
> Her slim fingers tangle in the black fabric, gathering it higher on her lap as she shakily parts her knees — and he’s treated to a view of not fabric, but her naked pussy.
> 
> Ben’s cock throbs with lust at the sight of her, so close and completely bared to him. Her soft breaths are like ghostly whimpers, but her eyes flare with unmistakable longing as he thumbs his jeans open and frees his thick sex, already rigid with want.
> 
> “No,” he growls as her fingers begin to creep toward her slit.
> 
> Rey’s brown eyes go wide with shock.
> 
> “You’re not going to touch yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been dreaming of this chapter for weeks, & finally it's here!! *squeee!!!*
> 
> Quickly, tho:
> 
> \+ Updates for this and [Craving Kylo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951468/chapters/34645847) should be coming faster now that I'm done with a piece for the Reylo Fanfiction Anthology gift exchange (coming to AO3 next month) and the [Reylo Charity Anthology](https://reylocharityanthology.tumblr.com/) \-- if you don't mind throwing down even $5 for immigrants & kiddos in need, you'll get my story UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN (a post-TRoS fix-it) and a whole bunch of other amazing stories & artwork. The previews I'm seeing on Discord are SO GOOD!!
> 
> \+ New chapters for my original shades-of-Reylo novel [ALLIANCE](https://www.elegygoldsmith.com/the-reading-room) are up on my site!
> 
> Special shout-outs to jennyjam & tsunderesukoco on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElegyGoldsmith) for the encouragement through a rocky few days & helping me get back on track - y'all are the best 💞
> 
> Also if you've ever left me a comment you're probably up on my corkboard of awesomeness -- thank you so much, you'll never understand how much seeing those positive words help me through every day. I tend to think I'm a shy, icy shitbird of a person, so tysm for giving me FEEEEEEELS 💜
> 
> Ok, nuff of this -- to the smuttery!!

Her panties.

Her  _ fucking panties _ .

Ben’s heart slams against his ribs like a telltale murderer. There’s no way to conceal the bulge of the wadded-up fabric in his jeans, so he keeps one hand shoved in his pocket, imprisoning the evidence. With the other he swipes out another message.

**_KYLO | Oh, and you can get dressed again. With what little you have left, anyway_ **

He hasn’t even reached the front door of Unkar’s shop before his phone vibrates in his hand.

**_REY | Bet you think you’re hot shit_ **

The words send a hot rush through his stomach, and he tightens his mouth to hold back a grin.

**_KYLO | Your panties in my pocket say_ ** **you** **_think I’m hot shit_ **

He’s so busy wondering what she’ll make of  _ that _ — the colder and crueller he is towards her, the more she seems to want him — that he nearly slams into one of those two friends of hers. The one that seemed to loathe him. Finn.

The other man glares at him like they’ve actually collided. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”

“Finn—” his friend says quietly in a  _ chill the fuck out, dude _ kind of way.

On any other day it might bother the hell out of Ben to have some random stranger so clearly pissed at him, but the reason for his ire became obvious as soon as Ben saw him staring at Rey.

Finn wants his stepsister.

But with Rey’s thoroughly wrecked panties clutched tight in his pocket, Ben knows he has no reason to be threatened. “Nope, he’s right. I’m sorry.”

Finn’s so ready for a fight that he can only scowl, reeling in the face of genuine contrition.

“See you guys around,” Ben offers, and then his long legs are bearing him away toward the registers and he can finally smirk because they’re all behind him.

He almost drops Rey’s panties as he retrieves his hand from his pocket long enough to grab a pack of batteries from beside the register and pay for them. Unkar’s distracted with the tiny flatscreen showing security feeds from around the store, and for a nauseating moment Ben thinks the old man might’ve seen something — but evidently he’s more concerned watching for shoplifters than pervs.

Ben doesn’t dare stop again until he’s back in the parked Barracuda. He’s never been grateful to Anchorhead for being so microscopic before, but once he heard Rey roaring off on her motorcycle this morning, it was a reasonable guess where she was headed.

And now—

After a furtive glance around to ensure he’s alone on the side street, he tugs the soft bundle from his pocket, and the breath runs out of his lungs in a shaky river. It had been excruciating sitting there in the next changing room hearing Rey’s soft sighs. He’d thought they were nearly sunk when her friend had come to find her, but she’d handled it with remarkable grace.

He hasn’t even had a chance to watch what she sent him yet — and he downloads the video over his wireless plan’s protests about wasting data. This is anything but a waste.

It’s a lucky thing he tends to keep a pair of earbuds in his pocket; the urban habit serves him well now as he cues up the video.

Ben had been turned on enough to feel her so nearby, but that was nothing compared to the instant, aching heat blooming in his cock when he hears Rey murmur his name. Her eyes glaze with rapture as she nears, and her face occasionally slips out of frame as she concentrates on what’s happening between her thighs. He can even hear the soft lapping sounds as she finger-fucks herself, and her titillation at being interrupted by her friend Rose forces him to readjust himself in his jeans. Wrong as it is, her eagerness to please him is intoxicating.

His stepsister whimpers his name again as she’s cumming, and that flirty air-kiss,  _ fuck _ —

Does she want him to kiss her? He hasn’t even considered it, and it startles him to realize his oversight only now. In fact, he hasn’t considered a lot of things, including his own relative inexperience. Rey was shocked to find out he was a virgin, too, but he’s determined not to give her an awkward thirty seconds of fumbling, if she really  _ does _ want him to be her first.

The very thought of urging that soft cry from her lips as he buries himself in her makes him shiver. But he’s not there yet.

Thank fuck for lesbians. Well, one lesbian in particular.

He has Phasma’s number up on the screen, but it’s lucky he’s planning on waiting until he gets out of downtown Anchorhead to actually dial because the strange quartet practically lunge into the crosswalk beside Unkar’s. He manages to throw the car into neutral and brake without stalling, but when Rey’s dark amber eyes lock on his, the will goes out of his leg that’s stomping the clutch and the Barracuda chokes.

His first panicked thought is for Rey and her friend Rose, but they’re fine, safely far ahead of the now-silent muscle car. The girls snicker behind their hands — and as they hurry across the street (against the light, he’s mildly irked to note), there’s something solicitous about the way Rey’s friend looks at him that makes him think she suspects something.

“Rey!”

Of course it’s Finn; only  _ he _ would have the nerve to shout at her in the middle of the street, bawling at her like she’s a dog.

His fingers white-knuckle on the steering wheel as he restarts the engine and pulls away toward home, but the sight of her panties on the passenger seat soothes him like a tonic.

She  _ gave _ those to him. Not Finn. Not anyone else.  _ Him _ .

And that’s what cools his seething blood as he peers at the shrinking foursome in his rearview mirror. The pale oval of Rey’s face is turned to watch him go, and he lets his fingers tighten on the stick shift to vent the strangled ache in his chest at driving away from her.

* * *

Phasma’s shit-eating grin is evident even through the pixelated video feed. “So you come to the master, eh, Solo?”

He rolls his eyes at the dusty, barren road sprawling ahead. “Can you help me or not?”

“Oh, I can definitely help you.” The blonde woman leans back, spreading her arms across the back of her sofa like a mafiosa. “I’m just enjoying the hell out of this.”

“What do you want?” Ben growls, exasperated.

“Nothing more than to appreciate this than for the briefest of moments. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

He glances down at the crumpled maroon bundle out of the corner of his eye, still wet from Rey’s pussy. “She gave me her fucking  _ underwear _ , Phas. Clearly I know at least a few things.”

“Yeah, congratulations, you know how to get her to surrender her panties. Now what, Valentino?”

Ben scowls at the cell phone clipped to the dashboard. “What do you mean,  _ now what? _ ”

“I mean, she’s naked in your bed,  _ now what? _ What do you do to get her back there again?”

The image of Rey, naked as she’d been that morning in the shower, waiting for him in his bed is almost too distracting to take. “I’ve seen some videos—”

“Porn doesn’t count,” Phasma interrupts. “Most of it, anyway — it’s made for male pleasure. And you’re thinking about  _ her _ pleasure. Right?”

_ Rey’s pleasure _ . Ben shifts in his seat, trying to give his cramped cock room in his suddenly too-tight jeans. “Right.”

Phasma chuckles. “I knew you were a giver, Solo.”

“Okay, so forget porn,” Ben growls, his cheeks scalding with a fierce blush. “Then what?”

“Sidenote, she’s on the pill, right? Cuz you don’t want any little Ben Solos running around.”

Rey’s slim body swelling with a child. It should be a horrific thought, but Ben’s hardened length defies him, throbbing with want. Maybe not a little Ben Solo, god knows he’d be as useless with a son as his own father was — but a daughter, a little girl to take to the MIT Museum and build their own little robots with afterward, a girl with the same inquisitive mind and warm smile of her mother…

No. It’s blasphemy.

Fooling around with Rey like this is dangerous enough. Imagining a life with her is beyond unthinkable.

“ _ Ben _ ,” Phasma prompts, snapping him out of the dark daydream.

“Yeah. Of course she is.”

His friend regards him sternly. “My man, if you’re fooling around with this chick you’d better make sure of it.”

“Are you giving me The Talk?”

“You’re bloody right I am — and I’d be doing the same no matter who you were and what you had or didn’t have between your legs. Fuck safe for both of your sakes.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Ben grumbles, humiliated.

“You’re welcome, son. Daddy loves you.”

Ben rolls his eyes, and tinny snickering peals from his phone speakers.

“Okay, seriously though, let’s get down to business. Shit, I’m gonna start making you a list of sites…”

* * *

By the time the Barracuda heaves to a stop in the dusty driveway, Ben knows more about the female body than he learned in an entire year of high school health class, let alone since. 

He narrows his eyes at Phasma as the house’s wi-fi kicks in and the gravelly image resolves. Owing anyone a favor of this magnitude makes him uneasy, even if they  _ are _ a friend. “You’re sure you don’t want anything in exchange?”

“For tutoring you in the fine arts of the orgasm?” Phasma grins. “Nah, mate, that’s not a service to you, it’s a service to humanity.”

They disconnect after the usual pleasantries, and Ben throws Han a wave as he gets out of the Barracuda. The old man’s out in the garage with the bays doors thrown open — safely distant enough to not notice the strange thing wadded in the pocket of Ben’s jeans.

Inside the house, he tosses the pack of batteries on the kitchen table. It’s doubtful Han will even remember mentioning needing them a few days ago, but at least it’s unimpeachable evidence that Ben didn’t go to Unkar’s to follow Rey.

Of course, she probably knows better. But that’s fine. So much the better, in fact.

He’s got plans to make in the safety of his bedroom — but it’s not the stairs leading down but rather those leading up that call to him.

Ben steals a glance at the breezeway door; it’s a calculated risk. But when is he ever going to ever have a chance like this again? It’s not that he doesn’t trust Rey, but he still can’t stop the compulsion to creep up the stairs to the quiet second storey and slip past the open bathroom door.

He’s certainly not going to go busting into Rey’s room — his old room, before the much-loathed remarriage — but anything in the medicine cabinet is fair game. And sure enough, tucked away on the bottom shelf behind a forgotten bottle of his meds, is a rectangular blue envelope the size of a credit card labeled  _ Johnson, Rey _ .

Ben slides the inner punch card out far enough to see that the pills are removed right up unto today, and his heart hammers with sudden awareness.

She’s serious about wanting to get fucked.

His cock is twitching again when he hears the breezeway door slam, and he hastily replaces the birth control packet, exchanging it for one of his old pill bottles. He’s just cresting the top of the stairs when he meets his father heading up.

Han’s inquisitive look vanishes as Ben holds out the pill bottle; the elder Solo is too discomfited by the memory of his son’s rocky teenage years to even ask.

“Was gonna see if you wanted to grab lunch together sometime this week when you’re not busy — maybe the Cantina?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ben says quickly.  _ Too _ quickly; it’s like the proximity of Rey’s besmirched panties in his pocket, mere inches away, is taunting him.

His father frowns. “You okay?”

“Just in the middle of something.”

He trots down a few more steps, passing Han, but the old man isn’t done with him yet. “Hey kid!”

Ben half-turns, trying to keep his father from noticing both his exasperation and the conspicuous swelling in his pants. “Yeah, Dad?”

“Chewie and I’re actually gonna throw a couple steaks on the grill this afternoon — think you’re gonna be around?”

There’s a tenderness beneath Han’s gruff tone; he’s really going out on a limb here. Awkwardness slithers through his gut, but he owes the old man at least this much.

“I imagine so.”

“Okay.” Han grins, looking more relieved than actually happy. “I’ll let ya get back to studying.”

_ Studying… _ Ben’s relieved, too, as he hurries back into his basement bedroom and shuts the door, tossing the red herring of a pill bottle on his desk. Only when he’s thrown his gangly frame down in his computer chair does he allow himself to pull the precious bundle of fabric from his pocket again.

He examines the lines of the soft, maroon cotton with a hunter’s keen eye. The hammock that rested against her pussy is dry now, but he can still smell her scent — an aroma unlike anything he’s ever encountered before, one that wakens a slumbering darkness within him. 

Ben swallows hard even before realizing how much his mouth is watering. Images he’s never considered before flood his mind: burying his face in Rey’s petal-soft folds, probing and caressing her with his tongue as she whimpers. Her thighs tightening about him as she writhes from the mindless bliss, and the primal joy of holding her open, his hands an unyielding prison for her body.

The taboo of it gives him a momentary pang of hesitation, but there’s no one here to see, no one here to whisper about him.

Ben presses the fabric against his face and inhales deeply, savoring the way blood pools in his cock as the scent of Rey’s pussy takes hold in him. It’s so goddamn awful the way she turns him on, but it’s inescapable, too.

His stiffening phallus and aching balls snarl at him, demanding release, but he forces the need to the back of his mind. Han was right about studying, in principle if not subject matter — and he cues up the video Rey sent him, watching her every move, over and over again, for hints of how to get her off.

* * *

**_REY | So about my panties…_ **

Ben grins. It’s been a struggle keeping quiet when he wants her down here  _ now _ , but the whole point is to make her wait.

And as exquisitely cool as Rey is, Ben can be a glacier.

**_KYLO | They’re mine now_ **

**_REY | Not if I tell your father you took them_ **

His gut clenches a little at the abhorrent thought — but it’s just a bluff, he’s almost certain of it. Just part of her game.

And her friends have given him the perfect ammunition to trap her.

**_KYLO | I wonder what he would say if I tell him about your Fourth of July plans?_ **

**_KYLO | You’d better be down here in the next five minutes with a reasonable excuse to explain your presence if you don’t want to find out_ **

Ben starts the timer on his phone, and carefully sets the metal-and-plastic brick on his desk with shaking fingers. Now all he can do is wait.

He knows she’s in her bedroom; sound carries through the house well enough for him to have heard the motorcycle roar into the junkyard, and Rey trotting up to her room. But that was a few hours ago — and now all he hears is the shuffling of other shoes overhead, none of them hers.

Footsteps finally clud down the upper stairs as his timer counts down to 2:00, sending hope and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Her gait is unmistakable — but she must stop to talk to either Han or Chewie because she stops on the main floor of the house, and he hears a muffled exchange of voices.

As the glowing ruby numbers on his phone scream 1:01 the basement door creaks open, and as a sliver of the kitchen appears, Rey calls back to someone, “Yeah, I will! Just gotta help Ben with his compy first!”

The sight of her nearly knocks the breath out of his lungs. He’d been expecting her to be wearing her favored denim cutoffs, or maybe even the biker pants she’d been sporting, but instead she slinks down the stairs in a black spaghetti-strap summer dress that follows the curves of her breasts and stops at the mid-thigh.

She smirks at him, the toes of her violet sneakers pointing inward ever-so-slightly. “What?”

Ben doesn’t trust himself to comment on what she’s wearing, but he doesn’t need to speak much for what comes next. 

He points to the foot of his bed. “Sit.”

Rey’s smirk fades into uncertainty, and she seats herself where he’s indicated, knees primly drawn together. The computer chair is already waiting; he cancels the timer, then sits directly in front of her, so close that their knees are almost touching.

“I just want what’s mine,” Rey says quietly, but there’s a note of challenge in her voice to match the steely glint in her gaze.

“And you’ll get it.” He levels his gaze at her, delighted to watch her squirm. This must’ve been what  _ he _ looked like that first day he was home, when she burst in on him and cajoled him into cumming for her. How the tables have turned. “But not yet.”

Ben leans forward and slowly tugs the maroon panties out from beneath the edge of the comforter, just beside Rey’s leg. Her response is electric: a shiver passes through her body as he draws near, and then a shuddering gasp escapes her as she sees what he’s after.

He dangles the fabric from his crooked forefinger. “This what you’re looking for?”

She makes a swipe for her surrendered underwear, but it’s a pitiful attempt — and he  _ does _ chuckle openly at that.

“Open your knees.”

Rey’s coral lips part, and a scarlet blush scorches her cheeks, but then she clamps her mouth shut again and raises her nose haughtily.

“Open. Them.”

Her slim fingers tangle in the black fabric, gathering it higher on her lap as she shakily parts her knees — and he’s treated to a view of not fabric, but her naked pussy.

Ben’s cock throbs with lust at the sight of her, so close and completely bared to him. Her soft breaths are like ghostly whimpers, but her eyes flare with unmistakable longing as he thumbs his jeans open and frees his thick sex, already rigid with want.

“No,” he growls as her fingers begin to creep toward her slit.

Rey’s brown eyes go wide with shock.

“You’re not going to touch yourself.”

“You can’t stop me,” his stepsister murmurs, but her gaze drops to Ben’s girthy shaft as he lays her panties over one of his legs and lets his fingertips play along his length.

“No, but you don’t want me to kick you out without  _ these _ ,” he rasps, tapping the panties with his free hand as the first stirrings of pleasure ripple through him.

“I’ll tell your father—”

“Tell him  _ what? _ ” Ben’s genuinely starting to enjoy himself, and the dazed, hungry look in Rey’s eyes as she watches him stroke himself is only encouraging him. “That you got yourself off in a public changing room while whispering my name, or that you then sent me the video of doing that to yourself?”

“I— I—” Rey can hardly get the words out, and as Ben watches, a bead of clear liquid rolls out of her swollen pink sex and trickles down, following the curve of her ass.

His cock pulses in instinctive response, and that same maddeningly piquant aroma of  _ her _ calls to him, inviting him to push her down on the bed and fuck into her until she cries out—

Precum seeps out of the slit on his cockhead, but he controls the impulse to ravage her and continues his practiced rhythm, urging himself closer to the brink.

“Ben, please— just touch me—” Rey begs softly, and her torment is exquisite.

He’s positioned her used panties perfectly; as soon as the fiery load gathers he scoops up the maroon bundle and cums in the liner, spurting his seed into the same spot already wrecked from Rey’s orgasm.

Tendons pop in Ben’s temples as he clenches his jaw, and finally he’s spent. Rey’s eyes are huge as he wipes the last drops of cum off his cockhead, meticulously cleaning himself and tucking his length back into his pants before tidily folding the sullied panties.

He tosses the fabric bundle into Rey’s lap, grinning openly at her strangled cry as it lands in the hammock of her dress.

“There,” he sighs as he stands and refastens his pants.

Rey looks shell-shocked as she smooths her rumpled dress back down over her bared thighs and collects the maroon square from her lap.

She looks at Ben, and his stomach lurches with warning because he has absolutely no idea what she’s thinking as she gathers herself and, with one final stunned glance at him, makes her way back upstairs and closes the door, leaving him in silence.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he growls as panic knots in his gut. Did he do something wrong?

After the way she’s teased him this morning—

His lanky legs carry him to the kitchen two at a time, but she’s already gone.

“Rey!”

He jumps as the screen door to the back deck slams shut — but it’s only Chewie, carrying a stained dish that looks like it might’ve once held Han’s favorite steak-and-green pepper kebabs. Evidently  _ a few steaks on the grill _ has snowballed into an all-out cookout.

“Have you seen Rey?” Ben demands as anxiety crawls through him like poison.

Chewie shakes his head, and Ben turns to squint up at the second floor. The bathroom door is open, and it looks like Rey’s door is open, too — so where is she?

He slaps at his back pocket, but his phone is still downstairs, and he sprints down to get it.

The indicator light is already blinking green with a waiting message.

**_REY | Time for a new game. I call this one Find the Panties_ **

At least she seems to be alright — and a rush of relief passes through him.

Then another text pops onto the screen:

**_REY | Here’s a hint: they’re somewhere near your dad_ **

Ben’s heart damn near stops in his chest.

He jams the phone into his pocket and a few breathless seconds later he’s back in the kitchen, striding past a bemused Chewie and shouldering his way out onto the back deck.

The harsh sunlight makes him squint; he hasn’t been out back here since he got home, and nowhere is the difference in years starker. As a child this had always been a dingy patch of scrubland separated from the junkyard by a flimsy chicken-wire fence, but in his absence it’s been transformed into a veritable oasis.

The rickety fence has been replaced by a slatted fence tall enough to obscure the graveyard of languishing vehicles — nothing cheap, but proper lacquered wood. A series of stone sculptures have been placed around the perimeter, strung together with an embroidery of succulents, and in the center of the flagstone courtyard, right where his swing set used to be, someone (Qi’ra, no doubt) has placed a raised fire pit.

The deck itself has been similarly overhauled, chipping boards replaced with smooth, gleaming planks that match the fence. Gone is the old grill, replaced with some multi-surfaced behemoth that Han’s tending like a devoted nursemaid.

Yet nowhere, from the covered hot tub to the rock garden, does Ben see Rey’s despoiled maroon panties.

His stepsister is lounging in one of the chairs surrounding the wood-and-resin table that takes up a fair portion of the deck. She smirks at Ben, legs crossed and swinging one violet sneaker, thoroughly smug — but before he can manufacture a reason to talk to her, his father spots him.

“Ben!” 

Han’s practically beaming, like he’s made the old man’s week by showing up. Guilt mingles with the trepidation already staining his blood; in his haste to prepare for taunting Rey, he’d completely forgotten.

“Kebabs and steaks are on,” Han says, gesturing to the grill. “Chewie’s working on fries — Qi’ra’s all about this new air-fryer of hers, and honestly, it ain’t half-bad.” He nods to the table. “We’ve got coleslaw, chips if you’re too hungry to wait for the fries — what can I get ya?”

“Uh, just give me a minute, that’s a lot of options,” Ben improvises.

“Oh yeah, sure, take your time.”

Han wanders back to the grill and restlessly prods the cooking food with an oversized pair of tongs, and Ben strolls past him, pretending to admire the garden.

“Your stepmom put all this in,” Han calls helpfully as Ben makes his way around the reclaimed space — but he’s doing anything but admiring the changes. A few times his heart seizes as his gaze finds the right shade of maroon, but it’s only fibrous swipes of color at the base of a few of the hardy plants.

He stops on the far side of the yard and appraises everything near Han, but there isn’t so much as a hint of what he’s seeking. God only knows what his father will think — or do — if he finds a pair of his stepsister’s panties covered in jizz.

His pocket vibrates, and as he finds Rey amid the shadows, she’s got her own cell out in front of her.

**_REY | Ice cold_ **

At first Ben doesn’t understand — but as he ambles closer to the deck, his phone buzzes again.

**_REY | Warmer_ **

So that’s her game.

He glances at Rey again, but his stepsister looks every inch a bored teen. She doesn’t even seem particularly interested in her phone, but thumbs idly through something that’s probably a social media feed.

His pulse quickens sickeningly with each passing moment. Where could she have stashed the palm-sized bundle where it would be near Han yet still unseen?

Or — god fucking forbid — does she  _ want _ the evidence of their transgressions to be discovered?

Ben moves closer to his father, poring over every inch of the monstrous grill in search of his quarry. He’s on the verge of asking Han to actually show him how the whole contraption works when his phone vibrates in his hand again.

**_REY | Colder_ **

He turns to scowl at Rey, but she’s still pretending to be halfheartedly playing around with her phone. Her neat features are utterly unperturbed, and her cute ponytail luffs over her shoulder in the afternoon breeze.

_ Colder? _ How could moving closer to his father be wrong?

Ben scrolls back through her messages.  _ Somewhere near your dad _ — but she’d known damn well he was in his bedroom when she sent that text, so anywhere out here could be fair game.

Anywhere at all.

His sudden suspicion that Rey is sitting on the folded fabric packet gets blown to hell when she stands up, tucking her phone into a pocket of her dress and brushing past Ben to get the screen door for an overburdened Chewie.

Ben knows Rey’s body well enough to tell that the black sun dress isn’t keeping any secrets. Even her phone makes a conspicuous lump in the fabric, so it isn’t stowed away in her pocket.

The proof of what they did — what  _ he _ did, now that he really thinks about it — isn’t in the garden, or tucked away in the grill, or even hidden beneath the auspices of one of Qi’ra’s thorny shrubs.

And that leaves one truly awful possibility.

“Here, lemme help ya with that.” Han hurries to take a few of the plates out of Chewie’s hairy arms, and as the two older men turn away toward the table, Rey lingers by the door.

“Be right back,” his stepsister calls casually — but as she rounds the screen door, she flips the already-short hem of her dress up to bare her ass to Ben.

Instead of the commando look she’d been wearing a few minutes ago, the delicious swell of her ass is swathed in the familiar maroon cotton.

“Sure thing, kid,” Han calls back distantly, but Ben can barely breathe.

After so much terror that he’d pushed her too far, sometime between her wordless departure and Ben emerging onto the deck she’d actually  _ put the panties back on _ , trapping his still-warm cum against her pussy.

“Rey!” he shouts.

Suddenly nothing else in the world matters but  _ her _ .

Ben’s feet move of their own volition, and he catches a flash of black fabric whipping around the corner to the stairs leading upward. He strides after her, ignoring some shouted comment from Han about not killing each other — and once he’s back inside and around the corner, out of sight from the deck, he breaks into a run.

Rey might have a head start, but Ben’s faster, and he catches her about the waist at the top of the stairs. She’s trying to get back to the sanctuary of her bedroom, but before she can scrabble away from him he throws her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“What are you doing?” Rey squeaks from behind his head.

“Giving you what you deserve.”

She might be strong, but she can’t resist him — and he carries her into the bathroom, locking the door behind them. After the morning Han walked in on them, Ben’s learned his lesson.

The window is ajar, and he catches snatches of conversation from the deck below.

“—gotta let ‘em work it out for themselves — I said no  _ Fight Club _ shit, but they hate each other,” Han is saying, but Chewie’s reply is drowned out by the loud shushing of the window as Ben pushes it shut.

Finally he’s ready, and he sets Rey down before the square sink, pinning her in place with his hips so that her face is a scant few inches from his. He slips one of his legs between hers, forcing her open — and she’s so lovely gazing up at him with those eyes brimming with hope that he almost  _ does _ kiss her, damn the consequences.

He’s not sure if she’ll like that, but there’s no doubt in his mind that she’s going to like  _ this. _

“I know what you need, Rey,” Ben rasps quietly as he shoves the hem of her dress up past her hips. He catches her ponytail in his free hand, forcing her face up to his — and his cock twitches again at her exquisite astonishment as he thrusts his hand down between the panties and her body.

“Ben…”

Her voice is a tremulous whimper as he traces the outline of her crease, exploring every millimeter with his fingertips. She’s quavering in his arms, and everything between her legs is soaked with his cum and her slick.

He’s never held a woman like this. Not even close. But Rey clings to him like she’s a drowning woman and he’s floating wrack as he pries her open and sinks his fingertips into her hollow.

Ben knows when he’s found the firm bud of her clit because her thighs tremor about his, and she groans quietly, rolling her hips to meet him. He pushes into her and then his index and middle fingers are inside her, cradled by her inner walls as he invades and withdraws, fucking her the way his cock wanted to.

“Sh-h-it.” Rey’s lips tremble, but Ben tightens his grip on her ponytail, keeping her far enough away that she doesn’t sink into him completely. He wants to see this.

“Can you feel this?” he murmurs. Rey whimpers as he slows his gentle tempo, retreating far enough to explore her swollen sex. The panties are still drenched with his semen, and he hooks his finger around the sodden fabric, lifting it and grinding it against Rey’s cunt. “This is me.”

“Yes,” she sighs, her lashed lids slowly drifting shut as she loses herself to his touch.

Rey herself had given him the best advice.  _ She’ll tell you when to move _ .

He lets the panties slip free and finds her with his fingers again, twisting them into her as he tenderly works her clit with his thumb. Her body begins to tremor again, and her breaths become the same soft, shallow gasps as when she was nearing the other night in his bed.

She’s getting off on his cum.

“You wish this was me fucking you, don’t you?” he croons as Rey’s trembling worsens and sharp whines.punctuate her breaths. He can feel her beginning to clench around him, her silken channel rippling around him as he defiles her.

“Ben,” Rey murmur, her lips wooden from the force of the bliss that’s taking her. Her arms tighten around him, her fingers grasping and clawing as his shirt as her whole body shudders.

Rey’s body ripples, and his name becomes a chant.

“ _ BenBenBenBenBen _ …”

He thrusts into her sharper, trying to ignore the pangs of want from his own body as he coaxes her to the blinding edge. Rey is warm and wet and tight and soft all at once, and he can’t get enough of her.

His stepsister writhes in his arms, stiffening in a sudden rigor — and then she cries out, her spine arching as she finds her release.

Ben slows, marveling at how she clenches and releases him, both violent and unseen all at once until she catches his wrist, stopping him. Her entire body is trembles as he extracts himself from her flooded quim, and he lets her silk-soft hair slip through his fingers, crushing her body against his.

“Ben,” Rey murmurs into his chest as she clings to him.

A long-forgotten darkness stirs in him as he holds her.

He’s never felt more wrong — or more right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> Places I lurk:  
> [My site!](https://www.elegygoldsmith.com/)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElegyGoldsmith)  
> [Tumblr](https://elegygoldsmith.tumblr.com/)  
> [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/Elegywrites/)
> 
> but oh god NEVER TINDER again, holy bugnuts... >.< 😅😬😱
> 
> Extra bonus points to your House if you get the source and/or meaning of the title -- I couldn't help myself!! XD
> 
> xoxo,  
> Elegy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Pinkies up, fellow Reylos!!
> 
> xoxo,  
> Elegy


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